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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24451480">Fair Bargain Made</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthlesslistener/pseuds/dickprince'>dickprince (ruthlesslistener)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hollow Knight (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(can't believe I'm using that on a fucking hollow knight fic), Breeding, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Consensual Sex, F/M, Inevitable spider coochie, Intersex individuals, Mentions of past child death, Mentions of wyrm biology (wyrmbology), No noncon, Oh boy time for the tags, Political Alliances, Political hatefucking, Porn With Plot, Said chapters will be content-warned so you can skip around, Serious talk of fantasy politics and godly warfare in between sex scenes/discussions, Teasing, The conception of Hornet: the fic, about how to make spiderfucking seriously, and i took it seriously aha, as well as some miscarriage/impotency stuff, from pre-and-post-zygotic hybridization barriers, inspired by a joke conversation in discord, no dubcon, tags will be updated as I go, you know the deal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:40:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24451480</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthlesslistener/pseuds/dickprince</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Deepnest has never bowed before the might of the Pale King. Long have the bugs of the east rallied against the beasts in their den, and long have Herrah's ancestors held their might against their expansion, scornfully turning aside the silver-tongued bargains and threats from the reclusive god who ruled them. The village of mantid warriors placed between the gates of the holy city and the tunnels of her territory were no idle threat- but now the gates have opened, the Lords have uncrossed their spears. And from the depths of Hallownest come not a declaration of war, but a peace offering. A plan, forged to drive back the plague of light haunting their kingdoms.</p><p>The fall of Hallownest necessitates treaties never before considered by either side of the old debate. Threatened by the mysterious infection ravaging her rival's territory, fearing the wrath of an unknown rival, Herrah has no choice but to accept the Pale Wyrm's bargain- but at a price. For before she must Dream, she must first secure a heir, lest he take her territory from her while she sleeps. And what better heir to secure than the scion of a god? </p><p>War makes strange bedfellows, but none so strange as the Pale King.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Herrah the Beast/The Pale King (Hollow Knight), The Pale King/White Lady (Hollow Knight)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>161</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This started out as a joke conversation complaining about the lack of respectable Hollow Knight porn over discord. I, the resident furry and monsterfucker, decided to turn that into a personal challenge, and then got so into it that I ended up writing a whole fuckton of words that had nothing to actually do with spiderfucking, hence...this *waves vaguely*. This is now a serious fic, and the porn and awkward funny sex conversation parts are going to have their own chapters, apart from the bulk of the political shit. There will also be content warnings, but seeing as y'all are probably here for weird kinky bugfucc they're not going to be too heavy. Maybe some blood here and there from nipping, but nothing too strong (yet). </p><p>Posted under a pseud bc somehow people from my high school found my main account and while I am alright with them reading some of my shitty anime fics, I draw the line at being known by irl people as the spiderfucker guy. I am not a coward, and I am proud to be a monsterfucker, but the last thing I want when the inevitable painful high school reunion happens (at like, a Walmart or something) is for someone I barely remember and vaguely loathe to jubilantly bring up my strange writing habits while I'm still scrambling to remember their name and say something other than 'who the fuck were you again'. If y'all talk to me like its my main tho I'll just point finger guns and go 'eyyyyy' or something because it's really not that high-stakes, I'm just rambling in this comment box because I'm procrastinating summary writing, and if the pseud still says my name in it like it does when I preview it then I will look like a fool, but at least I'm a fool probably out of the basic search engine</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When the dawn of the apocalypse finally unveiled its lurid orange eyes and exhaled its fetid, rotting breath, she did not yield. It had crept among the edges of Hallownest for centuries, but it had not turned its gaze on her lands yet, not in all the eras that her forebears ruled and spoke of the forbidden light that haunted their dreams, whispering quietly of vengeance and divine wrath. She caught her breath, caught the uneasiness racing through her heart, and held it deep within her chest, where it would not rear its fangs and cloud her judgement with its venom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she waited, as the Holy Land above fell to the first harbingers of its rage, and news of a new vigor to the sleeping sickness that the Weavers whispered uneasily about swept the land of weaker bugs into a panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did not break. Did not flinch away from destroying the prey that ran at her with yellowed eyes and a sickly-sweet mist clinging to their carapace, did not hesitate to sink her fangs into the less infected corpses when her devout and clan hesitated. She was not just the stalwart, lowborn queen of Deepnest; she was Herrah the Beast, terror of the dark caverns, beloved by her kin. She was a warrior, a leader, a protector, a mother in title where cruel fate had failed her. She could not bend, could not break, could not yield to the strange yellow light that whispered rot into the minds of all the bugs under the pale god's wings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the infection finally began to reach its stinking claws into her territory, the crossed spears of the Mantis Lords mysteriously fell away from the eastern gate to Deepnest. Time moved slower the closer one moved to the City of Tears, but it had been generations of mantids since their allyship with the Wyrm had been struck, and the Lords that watched her warily from their place in the light were foreign, both in family and in face. Her kind last longer than theirs, her particular form of savagery less inclined to turn to others for bloodshed, but the difference between the Lords she taunted as a spiderling and the Lords who sit the thrones now only serve as a marker for how long her kind have been considered unwelcome in the streets of the City, how long their separation stood strong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How unnerving that it is gone now. With nary a whisper, nor an announcement. No peace offering. Just freedom, forced unwillingly from a god’s claws by the wrath of a plague that attacks as if it has a mind of its own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The King of Hallownest does not summon her, from his pale court in the lonely, hidden depths of the world. He comes to her, instead, sending an elegantly written letter requesting a private conference in the Distant Village. Over a hundred years of her forebears pushing back against his creeping conquest, waging his silent war, all evaporated with one carefully constructed sheet of pressed moss paper, charmed so that it disintegrates in her claws after oh-so-kindly inscribing their words into the forefront of her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Queen of Deepnest. We, King of Hallownest and Voice of the denizens of this illustrious kingdom, gravely ask for your counsel upon matters regarding this most sinister and deadly of plagues threatening Our lands. A plan of Ours has been devised and enacted to Contain and Destroy this heinous threat, but only with the aid of strong minds and spellweavers can We lock away the heart of the disease. We humbly request your permission to allow Us to seek your council in these matters, away from the prying eyes of others.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Pale King.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In a way, she expected it. Long had the silent war between their kingdoms raged, enough for the resilience of Deepnest to have become a legend among the locals of the kingdoms. The mosskin of conquered Greenpath spoke of her tribe in admiration, the denizens of the Hive sent honey along whenever the previous demands of the King went unanswered; the bugs of exalted Hallownest whispered disdainfully of her savagery and primitive ways, when they were not squealing in terror as she chased them into her webs. She knew that her legend held weight to it, as much as she knew that the Pale Wyrm of the White Palace despised her for her defiance, as much as she knew that he grew ever more desperate with every life lost to the disease of light. The Weavers, ever wary of the powers of Higher Beings, had suspected that the infection had divine roots, and spread through a weakness of the mind. What better creature to hold council with, then, than the ruler of a kingdom who had resisted his own power for centuries? Who resisted the creep of the infection, who still stood proud and strong even as more and more spiders fell to the whispering songs the light wove in their minds?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the more territorial spiders urged her to pay him no mind. Maybe send back a corpse-creeper infected body, to make a point. Tag some animated silk to it, to allow them to watch and laugh as the weakling bugs squealed when their feral kin within grew grumpy at the light. But she has seen enough of the sickness to know she has little choice; either she swallows her pride and acts now, potentially saving her subjects the torment, or she stands proud knowing that Deepnest would fall eventually, taken by the sickness, or the starvation it would inevitably cause.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To some extent, it is already falling. Her spiders stand strong, but every day more and more of their prey come back dripping orange from their eyes, and she has seen even the clear-sighted ones drooling golden acid from their mandibles. They do not feast as they did in the days of her youth, and though none have come to her to complain yet, too proud of their resilience to cry ill, she sees the nervous glances that the hunters throw to each other everytime the blood of the catch they’re cleaning runs yellow. Deepnest cannot survive like this. Not for much longer, anyways, and she would rather swallow her pride and bend to his rules than see her family go hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course she would allow him to come</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she writes back, and bites back a grin from behind her mask as she inscribes it carefully on a well-crafted silk sheet, a far cry from the crude moss paper he used to send his message along. It was rude to be petty, but in a fight against gods, any leverage she could use against him would be worth it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>As long as it was on her terms, and that her clansmates would be met with the proper amount of respect when they inevitably came swarming all over to see him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the least he could do in this situation, really. She would have to bend to his rules for now, but no one ever said that she had to be nice about it. They didn’t call her ‘The Beast’ for nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she sends out the letter, she's honestly not even sure she'll get a reply. The Pale King was well known for his detachment, after all; she would not be surprised if he failed to show up to the Hidden Village, and send his more eloquent knights instead. But when she does, it's from a pale, trembling servant beetle clutching a thin stone tablet polished to an almost mirror-like sheen, inscribed with one white word written in pure Soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Agreed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite her black humour, the posturing amuses her greatly, and she allows herself a few good chuckles before she ambles off to find her council and discuss the coming of a god to their humble abode.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. An Intruder in the Nest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You may note that the Pale King switches between using royal and personal pronouns in this one. This is on purpose. With that being said, however, I wrote most of this in a haze so it may be subject to editing later. I'm just trying to get all the political talk out of the way first so I can get to writing the porn already</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The arrival of the Pale King comes with surprisingly little fanfare, for a ruler infamous for his tendency towards isolation. He simply appears in the tunnels one day, as if he were as much a creature of the dark as her kin, and begins the ascent up to her den by unfurling his wings and flying straight up to her home, only the unbearably bright glow of him proving him a Higher Being at a distance. She has her best warriors standing guard by her, as well as the head of the Weaver guild and her subordinate, and the strange slackness that falls over the faces of two of her warriors does not escape her attention, neither the pained grimness in Stitch and Twill’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She has never doubted the presence of a god in the basin of Hallownest, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>seeing</span>
  </em>
  <span> him in the flesh? After hearing the legends, hearing her ancient clanmates curse his name (in the same way that they would curse a rockslide or a famine, as if he were not a living being but a force of nature that lingered to the east, unknowable, unkillable)? That was different, and she cannot help but lean forward a bit so that she may see him better as he flies up closer to her home, his wings stirring cold eddies into the already-chilly draft of Deepnest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brings no retinue or bodyguards with him besides a gangly warrior with great, sweeping horns and a longnail nearly the length of their body, much too unreasonably large for the cramped corridors of Deepnest, and smudged lightly with the loosened dirt to prove it. She's honestly not sure how he dragged them through the tunnels, or why; of the two Great Knights she permitted him to bring, this is not one of them. She has no idea who this knight is, despite the intricate make of their armour, and, judging by the curious stares of her people, no one else does, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she sees them start to teleport their way up to the platforms, their outline flashing black, eyes flaring white, and she understands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I was not aware you allowed gods other than your wife in your realm, Pale Wyrm," she says as greeting, and tries to ignore the painful blurring in her vision when his wings fold and his head turns slowly towards her, lounging gracefully on her throne. The tall warrior-god forms by his side in a mist of shadow, eerie coldness radiating from their form, but she pays no mind to them. She can't, not when there was whispering on the edges of her mind, voices that grew louder as the Pale King's eyes locked onto hers. Damned fine nuisances they were. Might as well whisper something useful, if they had to do it at all; she had no idea if they were coming from him, or were the voices of her ancestors trying to reason with her, but all they did was cloud her thoughts with their inane mumbling. “If this knight of yours has anything to do with what you came here for, you better tell us quickly, lest we perceive it as a threat and do something...drastic."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She speaks as if she has any sort of chance against a Higher Being, but she catches the way his gaze flickers briefly to her needle before landing on her again. Hard not to, really, with the way it makes her go all woozy and unfocused, as if he shifted her center of gravity everytime he looked at her. "We assumed that We would be met with no hostility here."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice hardly rises over a whisper, but it coils through her mind like a spool of silk, a graceful trap waiting to be tripped; she cannot tell if she heard his words in the waking world, or if he just whispered them directly into her mind himself and let them echo about until they formed a shape of their own, a perception of disapproval that never manifested in his actual voice. She sees a couple of her warrior's hands twitch on their weapons, as if they were ashamed of standing by her side to defend her, no doubt reacting to whatever enthralling spell he wove with his voice. Her spiders were strong, and wary of gods, but they hardly stood a chance against a god.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either way, it pisses her off immensely. God or no, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>refused </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be challenged in her own home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I did not anticipate you to bring a warrior of such capabilities into my den, where they may act as a threat to my people." She leaned forward, laying her needle across her lap so that he might see the spells woven into its blade, granting it the power to strike down foes both divine and supernatural. Its thick, heavy blade rivaled the strange knight's in length, made not for hunting, but for killing the darker beasts that stalked the tunnels. She hoped he knew its significance. "Our nations have hardly been friendly to one another, Pale King. I allowed you to bring any mortal knight that you wished, for I trust in the strength of my warriors to best yours in a fight, but this is pushing it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Pale King blinks, slowly, as in the manner of the monsters told to spiderlings to warn them from tunneling too deep. It makes her skin crawl, to watch those strange membranes flicker over his dark, lightless eyes, but it breaks the intensity of his gaze long enough to keep her staredown from growing unbearable."The Pure Vessel is of no threat to you. Your life is of more value to Us untouched than damaged by what little can be reaped from your village."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though his whisper-soft voice spoke with the same distant dispassion as before, she almost felt like she caught a hint of irritation in it. A misstep, a crack in his impeccable facade, and she zeroed in on it as if it was an injured goam limping through the tunnels. If she watched his reactions and struck where he was weak, then maybe, just maybe...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How strange that my life has earned its worth to you only now that I am useful to you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pale King. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Maybe, if you explain the purpose of this little...visit to me, I will be content to let that insult slip." She leans forward just slightly, and grins despite her contempt, letting him get a good long look at the glistening lengths of her fangs flashing out from under her mask. Maybe such a thing wouldn't phase him, but he's small enough in this form that a good bite would be enough to tear his head from his shoulders. At the very least, the threat would drive home just how little she was willing to play with his garpedeshit. "I know your intent is to slow the infection, but whether or not your plan is of any use to my people remains to be decided." </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>gets a rise in him. He doesn't move, but his gaze gains a new intensity, the temperature in the room dropping. How strange, for such a small, awkward being to have such power- how wrong it was, for this creature of marble halls and ruined wastelands to be sitting in her woven halls, holding conference with her as an equal, when she was a mortal and he was living light and power woven into a tiny, inelegant frame. "Rejecting Our offer before We have given it is a choice poisoned by pride. A choice worthy of fools, as We know you are not. Queen of Deepnest, hear Us now; your pride will not save you. The Old Light's curse advances whether or not you believe you can stand against it- this We have seen, in all the wandering paths the future takes. Were you to turn Us aside, all of your civilians would die."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twill gasps, a quiet, shocked noise that pierced through the sudden silence suffocating the room. Stitch grabbed her hand, the old Weaver squeezing so hard Herrah worries she'll crack carapace, but she doesn't try to shake her off. The pain lancing up her arm was not born of shock, but of warning. A pain to ground her in the realm of the living, to not be carried away by the enchantment in this foreign king's every word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Herrah knows the tricks of gods, had memorized them carefully before she heard of the King coming to the Distant Village. She has heard in song and in thread what they would do to the hearts and minds of bugs and beasts, and though his words ring with the authority born of one thinking they speak the truth, she does not yield.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"King of Hallownest, Pale Wyrm and King, hear me now. I would have not summoned you to my throne if I intended to reject you before you had a chance to say your piece. I would not have wasted a messenger for that. But you have not yet proven yourself to me, nor have proven yourself trustworthy in any way that matters." She eased back on the throne, running the tip of a claw lightly over the etchings in her blade. The strange god-knight- the Pure Vessel- had its mask turned to her, but its eyes were empty, its stare devoid of any emotion. Blank, in a way that made her carapace itch and her fangs work under her mask. "I barely tolerate your presence here as-is; rest assured, it is for my people's benefit, not mine, that I am doing this at all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Pale King tipped his head, slow enough that he looked more like a doll sliding out of place than a living creature, and considered her. When he spoke again, his words were quieter, and deadly soft. A net of silk cast over shards of ice, splinters of glass, subtle and serene but no less dangerous for it. "Is my word not enough, as god and king and ruler of these lands?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What an insolent little creature. Herrah found herself bristling before she had the chance to calm down and think of what she was about to say. "No. You are no god of mine, and if you won these lands from other gods, your claim means nothing to me. I was hatched here, I lived here, and I will die here. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>am the ruler and Matriarch here, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wyrm, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>will have the final say in these matters."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stood, sheathing her needle on her back, and gave him a curt nod, ignoring the way the room's temperature had very literally dropped several degrees. "Come now, to the meeting room, and speak your part. Unless you want spiders from all over Deepnest to hear, of course."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She does not wait for a reply, immediately taking the lead as she turns and starts down the path to the council room, her spiders scuttling to match her pace. It's probably blasphemy of some sort, to turn her back to a god, but the Pale King does not strike her down, or tries to prod her back in place. He merely sighs, the first true indicator of emotion he's given since his arrival, and falls into place behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His large warrior- nay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pure Vessel- </span>
  </em>
  <span>follows, their footsteps strikingly silent despite their size. She can sense they're behind her only because she can feel their footfalls on the silk below her, and she tries not to wonder about just what strange creature the Pale King dragged into her abode. He hadn’t reacted at all when she called them a god, though the Weaver’s tales of falling kingdoms always detailed their Higher Beings coming to blows. Creatures of great power though they may be, they seemed intolerant of a rival’s presence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meeting room had already been cleared of silk-wrapped corpses, a blessing when turning to greet her guests presented her with the sight of wire-thin, intricate engraving wrought all over their armour and clothes. Opulence hidden below the thin veneer of modesty, regalia bought through the riches of a prosperous kingdom- certainly not the type of bug to allow snacks during a meeting. Such fine craftsmanship stirred an envy in her that she held close to her chest, lending her a keener eye for her rival's weak points as she lounged across her new throne and once again stared deep into the eyes of the Wyrm. Stitch and Twill took their customary seats, flanking her, and she doesn't need to look behind her to know her guards followed their lead, the soft plucking of the threads in the room a comforting noise as they climbed up onto their webs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There, now we are free from the curious eyes and ears of the villagers, though it rankles me to exclude them so. You are free to speak now, Pale King, and be assured that your secrets will be kept safe with the denizens of this room." She watches him, as he settles delicately onto his seat, gossamer wings flickering briefly before folding tight behind him again. Where he not so disjointedly, eerily unnatural, she would have sooner mistaken the Pure Vessel for the divine ruler of Hallownest than he. Or maybe not; the knight, from what she had seen, was obedient to a fault, standing so still by their king that she could have mistaken them for a statue. Only the slow rise and fall of their breastplate betrayed the fact that they were a living, breathing being at all- otherwise, they were painfully, unnaturally immobile, and their dark, empty eye sockets stared blankly out at nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Pale King tapped his claws against the table, then folded them tightly together, the picture of prim perfection."We suspect that you are suspicious of the cause of this terrible plague. We know that your people are not as barbaric as some denizens of Our city think, despite their ways and the restrictions We put into place against them. You have knowledge and magical power that is more than sufficient to bind a god, and We have need of it. It is only through your aid that this infection of false light can be apprehended.” His voice did not alter its mechanical quality, but she thought that she caught an edge to it, a lilt that spoke of desperation. Even if his words were as stiff as if he were reading off of a script, and he had somehow failed to stop sounding like an asshole. “Accept Our plan, aid us in Our plight, and your people will never fall. Reject Us, and it will not only be Hallownest that falls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So there </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a god attacking us.” Shockingly, it’s Twill who spoke, cutting through the fading echoes of his words. Her eyes widened behind her mask as the Pale King’s head slowly turned to look at her, but the young Weaver did not flinch away from his gaze, an act of bravery that filled Herrah’s chest with the warm glow of pride. “This Infection, this plague of dreams- this is not a normal sickness. It cannot be quarantined, because it is no physical ailment, it’s an attack from a god…your Majesty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Correct.” The Pale King studied her intently, as if he could pick her apart and assess every aspect of her fear just by looking at her- and maybe he could, or maybe it was just a tactic to ignore the stifled gasps of terror echoing through the room. Twill was shaking, staring back at him, and Herrah placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her, feeling her own shock sharp on the edges of her thoughts, past the deadly calm settling in her head. “Or, more specifically, it is the efforts of a god to regain power in a land that no longer belongs to it, and to wreak vengeance on Our kingdom." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Explain." Herrah gritted the word out through clenched fangs- there was anger, somewhere under the web of shock, and it was warping her ability to speak. "Are you telling me that another god held these lands before you? Are you telling me you conquered their territory, and then left them </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and that the suffering of so many have been brought about by your own cowardice?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Pale King's gaze settled on her. Stitch and Twill both flinched, the guards behind them reflexively clenching their weapons closer, but Herrah did not move. She could not move, with that piercing stare aimed at her now, picking her apart in a way that felt almost angry. "Do not presume to understand my plight. There were more factors at play than a mortal could comprehend. Matters of elements, of domain, of magical strengths and weaknesses. Before We were a nation, there was only I, the Pale Wyrm, and the god who came before held a power near-equal to what We hold now, as the King of Hallownest. " </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of his fingers twitched, and he curled inwards on himself a little, baleful stare breaking. Herrah took a sharp breath in, freed from the pressure, then gestured for him to continue. He blinked at her again, seemingly surprised by how quickly she recovered, before continuing in the same cold drone of before. "It was a rival god of Light, one that does not offer guidance but blinds the mind to all else, until there is no room in the thoughts for anything else. It was a being of Essence, that element that makes dreams and shapes memories, that which makes the metaphysical aspect of all beings. I, the Pale King, Guiding Light, wielder of Soul, am inadequate for the task of destroying the remnants of it that crawl back into the minds of mortal bugs. For just as you lesser beings claim that fire cannot be fought with fire, Light cannot be fought with Light, and the destruction wrought by such a battle would be extensive to the point that it would make the point of the original war obsolete.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is why We have constructed a plan to destroy this scourge of the Old Light, and why We have come to ask for your aid, and to ask for the strength and knowledge of the Weaver clan. For there exists in this realm a natural opposite to Us, something that can extinguish the blinding glow of the Old Light. Something that exists as the antithesis to life, to light, to thought and reason and emotion, an opposite to all the things that make Us living.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gestured to his knight, and they stepped forward, a single, automatic movement that cast them in his glow. Where his Kingslight struck them, no light reflected back off their carapace; Herrah had not realized how dark they were until now. The black chitin that made their body held not the dim, glossy glow of natural exoskeleton, but was as if there was a hole in reality where they existed, a place where no light could enter or return. The Pale King’s whispering voice strengthened as they stepped closer, took on a teacher’s projection; Herrah found herself leaning forward despite herself, paying attention to every word branding itself into her mind. “Behold, the Pure Vessel, known to the citizens of Our kingdom as the Hollow Knight. Crafted of God and Void, it will seal the blinding light that plagues your dreams. The Old Light infects by manipulating the emotions of bugs, allowing it access into their mind so that it may break their will and use it for its own gain. It overloads the bodies of bugs that resist it, and this violent takeover of the minds of those it manipulates bursts forth from the fragile mortal shells as Infection."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set his talons down on the table, tapped his claws rhythmically against its polished surface. A nervous tic, or the gesture of a madbug enthralled by his own creation? Herrah could hardly think past the echo pinging around in her head. She felt as if her mind had been a still lake in an empty, dark cavern, and the Pale King had slipped in with a lantern and dropped a stone into the water, so that it rippled and shimmered in the light of the knowledge given to her. "The Pure Vessel has been specifically made to counteract that. It has no mind to think, no will to break, no emotion to be manipulated, no voice to cry suffering. It is pure of all defects that allow the Old Light to corrupt it, for it has a heart of Void, that primordial darkness that ruled the world before any of Us were sapient enough to deem ourselves gods or kings. Were the Old Light to attempt to possess it, it would find itself trapped in a prison that it could never escape from. Devoid of its freedom, of its ability to spread its pestilence to the minds of bug and beast, it will die its last death, and the merciless Infection will be no more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He straightened up, and the spell released. Herrah tapped her claws against the table to ground herself, heard her spiders inhale shakily as they came out of the trance. A pretty tale, from the King, certainly one that seemed promising, but she herself had doubts about its effectiveness. No mind to think? No will to break? No emotions to manipulate? That seemed an impossible thing to ask from a living being- and certainly the Pure Vessel was alive, in some way, for though the movement was slight, she could see it breathing. And to breathe was to be alive, and to be alive was to think, and feel, however stunted or faint that may be. And to be crafted of God and Void...she studied the vessel in a new light, taking in its pale mask, its dark, lightless eyes. There was a familiarity there- in the shape of its eyes, in the pallor of its face. Its creator stood in front of her, after all, and though its mask wasn’t quite the same shape, she had her suspicions about its origin. She had never seen the White Lady in the flesh before, but she knew that her face was narrower than her husband’s, more slanted...just like the Pure Vessel’s. He had created it, he had said, to have a shell of a god, and she wasn’t sure if she liked the pieces that were slowly falling into place in front of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was the child of the King standing before her, corrupted by this dark force he had claimed to weaponize?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the bugs of Hallownest said that the King had made the world and everything in it, and he could not possibly have spawned them all as his children. She was not a magic user, but she could grasp enough theorycraft to know that there were many ways to animate objects, perhaps well enough to simulate life. The King, as a Higher Being, operated on a level that she could not possibly comprehend. And besides, the details of the vessel’s creation were not of her concern. All that she cared about was that it would succeed- and what he could possibly want from her clan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A clever tactic, Pale King, but I fail to see why the assistance of Deepnest is required.” She folded her arms back over her chest, running her secondary set over the blade of the weapon. “Explain, if you would, what you want from my spiders.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The primary skill of the Weaver clan is to bind, is it not?” The Pale King gestured again, and the Hollow Knight returned to its original spot in the shade, its longnail gleaming as it stood in its guarding position. “To bind prey, to bind a concept, to bind a memory- that is the skill of your people, to capture your desires in silk. And you are skilled in it. Skilled enough that others have tried to destroy you, skilled enough to use your knowledge to kill gods.” The Pale King tilted his head slowly, fixing Stitch in his gaze. She stiffened, but he did not hold her in place for very long, letting his eyes drag back up to Herrah. “We require that skill. The Vessel may be able to hold the Old Light, but there are ways that it can fight back that need to be sealed, so that it cannot snare others from its captivity. Just as an injured animal can lash out at its hunters while caught in a trap, the Old Light can harm others while trapped in the Vessel. I have already created a cage to hold it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep, slow breath in, and his head tipped up, as if he could look up through layers of silk and rock to the surface above. For a moment, his thoughts seemed far, far away. “At the crossroads of Hallownest, there lies a temple. Where once it was a place of worship, it is now an empty tomb. We have bound void to it, and have woven spells of my own to keep the darkness at bay. All it needs now is the Vessel, and something to bind it shut.” He looked back down, and tilted his head at the two Weavers, who were now watching him with an intense, calculative stare. “That is where your clan comes in. At the door of the temple must be placed a seal of binding, crafted by claws other than a god’s. The Old Light’s power is too close to Ours- it cannot cut through some of my spells, but it can learn to unravel them. And yet, despite its omnipotence, it does not understand the thoughts of mortals, and a seal of binding etched by the claws of beasts will be indecipherable to it. A Weaver spell is required for it to be properly sealed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stitch took a sharp breath. Recognizing her subordinate’s desire to speak, Herrah tapped her lightly on the shoulder, and the old spider took a half-step forward, sketching a shallow bow as the Pale King’s eyes met hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your Majesty. I am Stitch, head of the Weaver’s guild. I have a question, if you would permit me to ask it.” Her shoulders shook slightly from the strain of holding her bow, too old to be comfortable in the motion, but she held the King’s gaze, too proud to look away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the Pale King was surprised by her interrupting his parley, he said nothing of it. Instead, he inclined his head, horns dipping with the motion, and answered, his voice as serene and cold as a frozen pool. “Stand and speak, Stitch of Deepnest. We will answer your question to the furthest extent of Our abilities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stitch straightened, wincing slightly. Herrah clicked her forefangs, admonishing her for straining her old back, but if Stitch was too proud to break the gaze of a god, she was far too proud to bend to her younger queen’s whims and sit. “Your Majesty, I must first preface my question by telling you that this spell is not out of the range of our abilities. But to bring a spell from paper to loom is another story...surely, you have planned for this undertaking? For the power required to activate and maintain such a spell would be immense, and that doesn’t even take into account the mental fortitude required to protect it from the assault of an angry god. If my queen accepts your plan, how do you expect us to carry it to completion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An excellent question, Weaver Stitch.” The teacherly tone had crept back into the Pale King’s voice; she was starting to suspect that he enjoyed the ability to explain himself, even if he stuck out in the depths of Deepnest like a sore claw. “For that is precisely why We require your queen’s assistance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Herrah let out a surprised grunt. “You require me for spellcraft? Surely you must know that I hold no magical abilities myself. I hardly try to hide it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it is not your magical abilities that are needed. We shall provide the energy for the spell, but keeping it intact is beyond Our capabilities, as We can be overridden by the Old Light.'' The Pale King brought his hands together, pressing clawbed to clawbed, clawtip to clawtip. Perfectly precise, and he held himself as still as a statue as he watched her, with that keen cutting stare. “It is your mind. To properly seal the Old Light, three Dreamers are required. Beings with minds strong enough to resist its calls, strong enough to turn it back and keep the spell standing. The grounding points of the snare, if We are to use metaphors here. Of the few bugs in Hallownest strong enough to become a Dreamer, you, Herrah the Beast, are one of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Weavers stiffened, shocked into silence, but Herrah just scowled at him, mind racing through the different spellcraft lessons she'd sat through before she took the throne. Activating a long-lasting spell was always the hard part, she knew that much, but she had no idea what he meant by making her the corner points. Resisting the call of the infection was one thing- she had done it easily enough, recognized the creeping pestilence whispering lies into her dreams. She would gladly throw herself into the fight, if it meant keeping her people safe. But how would she…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Explain what you mean by </span>
  <em>
    <span>dreaming, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pale King. I have seen spells maintained while the caster was still conscious. It is a difficult task, for sure, but not impossible." She ran her clawtips over the etchings in her needle, tracing the runes worked into its spine. How she wished she could just summon the Old Light here and now, strike it down with the spellbond blade so she could run this alien monarch out of her home. "I do not understand why this spell should incapacitate me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Because it's not just an ordinary casting," Stitch whispered. "This is an undertaking on a monumental scale. This is war." She shook her head, raised a trembling claw to point at the King. "She's not going to survive this, is she? If this plan was pulled off. You're going to kill her. You're going to kill our queen."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fear stabbed its icy claws into Herrah's heart, before she shoved it away and steeled herself. She was a warrior of Deepnest. She was the queen, the matriarch. It was her duty to place herself before her people, to fight their wars, to feel their pain, to die for their freedom. She should not throw herself recklessly into this, but… “Pale King, if you do not answer me clearly, I will not hesitate to kick you out of Deepnest, ultimate plan or no. Tell us in detail what this spell will do to me, or lose me as a potential dreamer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Pale King sighed, and for a moment, his light seemed to dim. He seemed to sag in his chair, to grow old and worn and </span>
  <em>
    <span>tired</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and then he was back to his perfect, pristine self, as emotional as a statue. "Not technically. Our spell was not designed to destroy. Indeed, its primary purpose is to preserve and protect, as your Weavers will soon see once they survey Our sigils. But in order for you to properly fence in the Old Light, you must be asleep. You must be present in the dream realm, your spirit and essence locked within its upper echelons, and in order to do that you must sleep, awaking only once the Old Light has died its final death.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubbed a claw down over one eye, as if he were trying to ward off a headache. “It is a very complex spell with many working parts. We can explain only certain facets of it, and their outcomes, as Our capabilities with spellcraft unfortunately render the fine details of it instinctual. We are, however, more than willing to explain what we can to your Weavers. We hope that that is clear enough for you, Herrah of Deepnest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it is clear enough. Clear enough that you send me to my death, or, at the very least, something close to it.” She leaned back, head ringing, though with fear or anger she could not tell. One of her guards hissed behind her, their fangs clicking, and she held up a hand to steady them. She could not have them threatening him- not yet, anyways. “A high price indeed, Pale King."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There is no cost too great for the survival of our kingdoms. If you are not willing to pay, then hundreds of thousands of lives would be lost, if not millions." The Pale King's fingers tapped on the table again, at a much more rapid place than before- definitely a nervous tic, then, one she should watch out for. She made these observations as if thinking through a wall of cotton, her thoughts still reeling from the revealing of the Dreamer plan. "We know what We ask for is high. We know, and are willing to parley. Sleep for us, dream for us, and Hallownest and Deepnest will no longer be at feud. On my immortal name, by my blood and honour, I pledge this. We know what We ask for is not a duty taken lightly, but for the sake of both our kingdoms, the Old Light must be stopped."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And just how long will that take?" Herrah whispered, hearing alarm bells chime in the back of her mind. The King of Hallownest was famed to be distant, and as cold and unyielding as the marble and metal his palace was made of. The King of Hallownest was proud, too, in his own cunning way, and would never beg from the likes of her, unless he was truly, truly desperate...or he wanted something else from her, something that could only be bought with her life. "You claimed this spell was nonlethal. How long does it take to kill a god? Is there any chance that I may wake from this before my time in this life is forfeit, or will I rise centuries from now, my people dead and my land in ruins around me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silent, scrutinizing stare he gave her in reply was enough. It was hard to tell what was going on in the dark, liquid depths of his eyes (harder still to look at them, patches of black cut into a white backdrop, dizzying as craning your head up up up to stare at the endless expanse of the night, or down, down into the yawning pits of the earth), but Herrah thought she saw a hint of despair in them before he folded his claws back together and said, in his usual whispering monotone, "It is impossible to tell. The Old Light did not die completely when We conquered this land for Ourselves, but that may have been due to the moth tribe's deep-rooted habits of passing the history of their people down from adult to child. They were the Old Light's chosen group, before We granted them their freedom; their worship may be worth more than the fear it gathers now, in the form of the plague. It is unfortunate, then, that their tribe has all but left Hallownest. Out of the care of their creator, lured by the curiosities beyond Our borders, they have dwindled down to nearly nothing. Fortunate for Our fight against their original god, but unfortunate in that We have lost the opportunity to learn more about Our old enemy. They were a tribe of oral storytelling rather than written work." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned back, folding his second set of arms over his chest. The movement was near-hidden under his robes, but it made him seem oddly approachable, as if he were a mentor lecturing her on a subject rather than an enemy ruler discussing a sacrificial plan to kill a god. "We hope that We have answered your questions sufficiently."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, you answered them alright." Herrah lifted her needle from her lap and gripped its hilt with her front right arm, raising herself up out of her seat. Stitch and Twill backed out of her way, bowing low, but she had eyes only for the King, and the void construct he had beside him. Its head smoothly turned to watch her as she walked closer, mechanical and emotionless, but it made no move to apprehend her, or to show any sign of alarm at all over her presence. Shock still buzzed her nerves, but she no longer let it consume her. It would do her no good, with these two watching. "So this Pure Vessel is the axis the entire plan hinges on? The success of the spell weighs on the purity of this creature?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Correct. The Pure Vessel has no mind, will, or emotion to allow the Old Light to manipulate it. It is a perfect hollow entity, a perfect being to contain the plague. We would not have approached you had We not been confident that it was flawless.” The Pale King did not move to intercept her, but he was eyeing her suspiciously. Was he worried that she would break his precious toy, and damn both their kingdoms to the plague of light? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She surveyed the Pure Vessel, thoughts ringing loudly. The Pure Vessel stared back, but gave no indication of life, apart from the slow rise and fall of its breathing. Strange, that a magical concept required air like any living being. Suspicious, that the Pale King insisted on them feeling nothing, on being hollow, when a key indication of existence was the basis of thought, emotion, reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even dying things still had feelings, burning bright and desperate just before the light drained from their eyes. Even the dead held onto their thoughts and feelings, scraps of memory from a bygone life, clinging to whatever remnants they left behind like silk to an old feederbug’s corpse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tightened her grip on her weapon, hearing the start of a cold, sharp hiss somewhere in the distance, and stabbed the vessel in the leg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The effect of the wound was immediate- as pitch-black fluid sprayed onto her blade, the temperature in the room dropped dramatically, coils of steam rising from her needle’s edge when Void met warm metal and dissipated into the still air. The Hollow Knight staggered soundlessly, swaying with the blow, and then disappeared in a flash of darkness, reappearing a body length away with its nail raised over its head in a block. It did not show any favor to its wounded leg, standing firmly on both feet, though she thought she caught a hint of a tremble in its injured side, a weakness that it did not appear to acknowledge. Motes of velvety shadow leaked from the crack in its carapace, further adding to the chill in the room, and yet it made no move to heal it, seemingly unconcerned with bleeding out. All of its dark, empty focus was primed onto her, a strange intensity in its eyes that numbed her to the world around her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had not hit it hard, but she knew her blow had been painful- and yet it had made no sound as it staggered, whereas any other bug would have gasped or screamed. It had teleported away from her, prepared a block in case she retaliated, and yet made no movement to fight back, still as stone from where they stood. It was staring at her, and there was an alien weight to it, but it still seemed blank. More like it had just fixed its gaze on her to track her future movement, in response to some preordered action taught during its training, rather than actually staring at her in anger or shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hollow enough. It must be. Nothing could withstand a poke in the leg from Herrah the Beast and react in such a way, as if she has merely caused an error in its system. At the very least, it was mute, and the other qualifications for its hollowness probably tied into each other like a chain rather than separate links of purity. They had to, for it to be this unaffected, moving as a spellbound automaton rather than a living creature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She became suddenly, acutely aware of the scathing hiss filling the air when she stepped back from the Hollow Knight, lowering her needle. The sound drilled into her head, demanded fear and subordination, but she grit her fangs and clenched her nail tight and refused to flinch back, even when the Pale King swung off his chair and placed himself directly in front of her, his halo of light agonizing to look at from such a close angle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think you are doing?” snapped the Pale King, his claws glowing with pure white Soul. The hiss had left his voice, dying off into the distance, but his fury echoed on through his words, filling the room with his displeasure. “To what end do you aim to achieve by harming my knight? You tread on a fine line, beastly Herrah!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did not seem so small like this, with his Kingslight glowing bright, his wrath a far cry from the cold, detached being of before. She surveyed him with a calm that she did not feel, ignoring the ringing in her ears and the dense, crushing pressure of the air around her (there was something else in the room, she felt it, something with great long coils that wore this doll like creature as a face, a puppet to exert its will), and wiped the Void from her needle with a flick of her wrist. It did not fall as much as it did evaporate into a puff of black mist, but that was not her concern right now, not with the fate of her kingdom hanging on a precipice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(If she accepted this plan, she would leave Deepnest open to the creature before her. She held no heir. She would save them from the fury of a god, only to leave them vulnerable to the jaws of another. This being before her had sworn off its own honour that it was telling the truth, but she could not trust the honour of a monster, any more than she could trust the illusions that ran through the tunnels wearing her family’s faces.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be calm, Pale King. I am merely testing the purity of your vessel.” She slid her needle back into its sheath, safely away on her back. She could not afford to show weakness now, not when that bright, aching light had not yet dimmed. “Do not pretend that you have been gentler with it than I. The tales of your ruthless efficiency stretch farther than you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light haloing his crown of horns brightened for a bit, then dimmed back to a manageable glow. He studied her silently for a moment, his wings slowly drifting downward (ah, so that had been part of what had nearly blinded her) until they were tucked against his back once more, and he was back to his usual tightly contained, controlled appearance. “You take liberties with Us that We do not allow. We are the god of these lands, Herrah- it was Our war that tore your territory away from the tyranny of the Old Light, and it was Us that allowed the Weaver tribe into the safety of Our kingdom, knowing that they possessed magical knowledge powerful enough to kill Our kind. We do not demand your worship, but We demand your respect. Aggression directed at anyone belonging to Our kingdom is an affront, no matter what your reasoning may be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anger pierced her heart, leaving a burning, smarting wound behind. She bared her fangs at him, allowing him to see the venom shimmering on their points, and did not bother to keep her ire from her voice when next they spoke. “And you are a fool, if you think that you can demand my life for your plans when you have spent generations waging war with my kingdom! I will test you as I wish, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pale King, </span>
  </em>
  <span>for I am no mosscreep to be passively lead to the slaughter. I hear your words, I understand your desires, but I do not trust you. None of us trust you, intruder to our village, god and king and enemy! We are willing to listen, Old Wyrm, but our claws are sharp and we are many. Insult our pride, and we will not hesitate to turn against you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She crossed her arms, staring him down- he was no longer trying to do the same to her, but had turned his head slightly to the side, his cold glare aimed from the corner of his eyes. She had no idea what that meant, but to the savage, instinctual part of her brain, it registered as an act of submission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Good. She had no more patience for this shit anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This meeting is now over. We will join again at second candlelight tomorrow.” She turned back to address her spiders; all of them were staring at the Pale King in varying levels of shock and anger, though she caught Stitch massaging her bad eyes under her mask with one shaky hand. “These negotiations are not over. For all of our sake, Pale King, I hope you take what I’ve told you to heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, without giving him or the Pure Vessel a second glance, she turned away, and exited the room.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>She could not accept the Dreamer plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She must. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if she slept then Deepnest would be left vulnerable. Long had the Pale King been at war with her kingdom, trying to assimilate it into Hallownest proper. If she dreamed, then he would undoubtedly try to conquer it when she was sleeping, claiming that it would be in her people’s best interests to take him as ruler. She had seen how affecting his light could be, even when he was not trying to use it to lure her in- there was no chance that all of the residents of Deepnest could fend him off for long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps Vespa…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. Vespa had enough to deal with as is, with her hive ever-growing and the Infection closing in. She was kind and just, sympathetic to Herrah and her struggles, but she was too busy to rule Deepnest, even as reagent. Especially if there was no heir to take the throne from her when she passed, something that she herself had already chosen as the end to her rule.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had no heir. The old king had not been of her kind, and the clutches laid between them had failed more often than not. Nor did she desire to take any mates within her own caste, all of them lowborn and unproven. She had fought hard to earn her place on the throne, she could not risk a new mate undermining the success she had wrought for herself. Nor did she wish to harm them, if they grew fond of her before it was her time to die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(She did not wish for the heartache, if she found a new mate and forsake her life with them to die for their future).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could not possibly reject the Dreamer plan. The risk was too great, and though the Pale King was untrustworthy, there had been desperation enough in his offer for her to believe that the future he had foreseen would be one unkind to her people. And yet, she could not possibly leave Deepnest without an heir. The mating gatherings for bugs that did not take permanent mates were an option for her, she supposed, but that would not ensure a healthy clutch, or a hatchling from a high enough caste. Heritage was not as much of a problem in Deepnest as it was in Hallownest, where the families of prey species squabbled endlessly to make themselves feel special, but ensuring they were of the proper caste was essential to allowing them an easy rule. And she could not see the Pale King accepting them as a-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Pale King. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held no heirs of his own. Successors, in his case, were useless- he was as close to immortal as any being could ever be, placing one of his blood in line for succession was a danger he would never allow in his court. But he was capable of creating life, either through natural or artificial means, and the Pure Vessel was proof of it. She did not know what the circumstances of its birth was, if he had taken it and hollowed it out like a well-drained husk, but its carapace had snapped under her needle like any living bug’s. It seemed of biological make, and if it seemed impossible that a creature of his stature had produced something as large as the Hollow Knight- well, she knew that the White Lady was famed for being tall. As gods, it was unlikely that they would have struggled to produce a clutch either, even with their differences. Even if the result had been something that was essentially a dead bug walking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But would it work with her…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She must be light-blighted already, for her to consider such an option. And yet she could see no other way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A true warrior faced their demise with pride and dignity, no matter how much their fear screamed at them beyond their mask. A true ruler would willingly die for their people, allow fate to claw and tear away at them if it meant that their kin would sleep safe in their nests. She was a warrior and a queen. She knew she would face her own death bravely if it would win her kingdom’s freedom, but she also knew that she would rest easy knowing that they were in good claws, inherited by a ruler who held enough power to keep them safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what better heir than the blood of a god?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She would accept, then. If her sacrifice would save her kingdom, she would accept. But only if the Pale King accepted. Only when she was holding a living, healthy child in her arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hoped that he would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He did not have a choice.) </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>When second candlelight came, she was tired and irate. The night had not been kind to her, with her rest disturbed by her speculations and planning, but she allowed no sign of it to show on her face when the Pale King entered the meeting room with the Hollow Knight, his robes slithering just a step in front of its claws. The vessel no longer bore the needle mark of the night before, doubtlessly healed by the King after she had left him behind, and she saw her own guards glancing suspiciously at its leg while the King crossed the room and waited for it to pull out the (admittedly large, heavy) chair out for him to sit on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She eyed him, wondered what he would look like disrobed, and then quelled that thought from her mind before it could turn to distaste. This was a political discussion, and he, for all his flaws, was trying not to be her rival. She would do well to remember that fact, seeing as she had not secured any treaties between them yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Herrah the Beast,” he whispers, and inclines his head slightly- not a bow, but a mark of respect nonetheless. She’ll take it. “We hope that you slept well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And to you as well, Pale King.” She toasts him with her cup of morning tea, brewed with just a dash of dried mushroom to ensure she was awake enough to handle the coming negotiations. The bitter flavor did not help endear her to him in the slightest, but she suspected that she could be snacking on the very sweetest of honey treats right now and still feel the urge to throw them all in his face regardless, if only to see how they’d stick to his stupid crown. “I hope that you found your morning meal satisfactory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We thank you for your concern. Your hunters are most kind with their offerings, and have given us more than enough food for the coming day.” He settles into his chair with the same odd sort of grace as before, sitting in a way that would look awkward to most. She catches the flick of a tail beneath his cloak- so that’s what was slithering about before- and makes a mental note to set out godly stools for him to perch on instead of the chairs that were usually set out for guests. “Likewise, We appreciated its...liveliness. It has been a while since We have enjoyed fresh prey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will make sure to tell the hunters of yesterday that you enjoyed their catch. They would be most pleased.” Herrah set her cup down on the table and took a steadying breath- Stitch would not like this. Already, she could feel the old Weaver’s gaze on her, watching her every movement; she had not liked the Pale King’s plan, and had spent a good three hours bickering with her about it after they had retired for the night. “I wish to continue negotiations with you, Pale King. The fate of my kingdom comes before my pride, or the pride of my people, though I wish to see it go as unsullied as possible. Know, however, that this does not mean we will tolerate disrespect from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Pale King studied her, face grave, and nodded. Though he himself appeared as pristine and unsullied as he was the day before, a tiredness seemed to cling to him, as if he too had struggled through the night. “Noted, Queen Herrah. We understand this, and apologize for the brash words spoken the night before. Such aggression is unfitting of Us, guests in your domain as We are. Such a flaw will not be tolerated by Us now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...She was not sure if she liked hearing him call his own emotions flaws. Despite nearly coming to blows with him over the Pure Vessel, she understood why he would be so angry at her damaging his property. Or his child, but thinking of them as anything other than a simple creation pulled at her heart in a way that she did not have time for just yet. “I hear you, and understand. Your reaction was understandable, but please know that I did not mean it as an act of aggression. You ask much from me, Wyrm, and I cannot make a misstep in ensuring the future of my people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She waited until he nodded again, then took another deep breath and raised her voice. “Now, before negotiations for today start, I want everyone other than the Pale King to leave the room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dead silence reigned for a moment, and then Twill bowed and murmured ‘Yes, Queen Herrah,’ shooting her mentor a nervous look before heading for the door. The guards were next to follow, leaving only Stitch, who gave Herrah a piercing look-over before shakily bowing and hobbling for the door, her head held regally despite her old, aching joints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Hollow Knight did not leave. She had not expected it to, but she still gave it a pointed stare before turning her attention back to its creator. “I said everyone, Pale King.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Pure Vessel, as you have seen before, is entirely mute and incapable of retaining any information other than direct orders or programming. There is no sentient being other than you or I in this room.” The Pale King folded his claws before him- there was no fidgeting this time, just a calm acceptance of what was to come. “Any transaction spoken here will be kept private.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded grimly, and rubbed a claw over her chelicerae, trying to think of a way to phrase her offer. “I have considered the options, and have determined that following your plan is the best method of securing a future for Deepnest. Before I accept the position of Dreamer, however, certain criteria must be met. If our kingdoms are to forge a peace treaty, then I wish for it to be beneficial for the both of us, so that any ill will held by our people will be outmatched by the desire to maintain good relations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have anticipated this, Queen Herrah, and are willing to open trade with Deepnest. We are willing to pay any price to ensure Our kingdom prospers, provided that it is reasonable.” There was a glint in the wyrm’s eye as he watched her, but his tone remained calm and even. Doubtlessly he was relieved by her compliance, and had a list of trade routes he wished to establish in her territory. She herself knew how much her spiders grumbled about needing to disguise themselves as lesser bugs to trade for the rich blue dye that prospered in Hallownest, derived from the ground shells of feederbugs that perished in Deepnest. “Name your offer, and We will decide on whether We can accept it or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is not trade that I wish to secure first, Pale King.” She watched his face carefully for a reaction, and found none. The only indication of his confusion was a slight tilt to his head, easily missed by the less observant. “I have no heir. The first thing that I wish to ensure is that there will be an heir to rule in my stead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Pale King exhaled slowly, but did not seem perturbed by her statement. His claws tapped the table, once, twice, a third time, and then folded away, clasped loosely together. “We will give you sufficient time to secure an heir. The Infection spreads, but it has not become unmanageable yet. This can be done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t get it. Herrah took another deep breath, praying to her ancestors that she would not lose her nerve or temper in what was about to come next. “No, Pale King. I am not just asking for time to choose or breed an heir. I am asking for you to be the sire of my child.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shock of the god across from her was palatable. He froze, and the air froze with him, the temperature dropping to a point where she swore she could see her breath mist out from under her mask, a phenomenon she had seen only in the darkest and deepest of the tunnels. He stared at her, and then his gaze sharpened and he studied her intently, and the world dipped and spun and twisted around her, the aftermath of his surprise ringing through her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a tight, clipped voice far from his usual monotone, he whispered, “You do not need the blood of a god to secure your throne. We will allow no threats to Our throne, Queen Herrah, even if it is our kin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She crossed her second set of claws under the table, drawing a warding sigil on her left palm to ward off the dizziness and help ground her. She could not lose her wit, not now. “Did I say that I intend to take your throne? I am pretty sure I implied the opposite, Pale King. A child born from you would be a mark of goodwill between our kingdoms, Wyrm, not a predecessor to war.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, claws digging into the table. “You do not know what you intend to tamper with. Anything with wyrmblood is a threat, to both your rule and mine. I know my heritage, Herrah, and it is a legacy writ in violence. The child you wish for could destroy more than it would save. Breed a spider of the village instead. This is not a service that I am willing to give.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you forget what my title is, Pale King? ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Beast’</span>
  </em>
  <span> is not a moniker lightly given, and I have earned it for myself, in blood and battle.” She raised an arm and lifted the veil draped over her chest, baring it to him so that he may see the scars marring her thorax. “I am the most powerful hunter in the village. My hatchling name was ‘Little Fierce Warrior’, for I began to hunt and fight my brethren before I learned to speak or weave.” She let the veil drop again, staring him down- she did not wish for him to think her incapable of handling the child he could give her. Indeed, his words gave her hope, a desperate, fiery thing flaring in her chest. A hearty child was more than she could possibly dream of, especially after a life of failed nests and tentative warnings about the frailty of hybrid hatchlings. “This is not Hallownest. Any children you give me will hatch into a nest of predators and warriors. We will raise them as our own, and they will learn how to control their desire to stalk and kill. They will learn how to honourably hunt, how to slake their urge to fight, how to be at peace with their nature. And we will love them for it. There is no greater blessing to a village of spiders and centipedes than a fierce warrior with a good heart, something that you do not favor in your little glass city of pretty dolls and ornate inventions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leaned forward, resting her claws on the table so that he could see their shine. “And did you not say that you were willing to pay any price to save your kingdom? Provided that it was reasonable, of course, and not impossible. Well, I consider my request quite reasonable, and I highly doubt that it would be impossible for you, god-king of the City of Tears.” She tipped her head back, so that he could see the gleam of her fangs as she smirked at him. “Unless you are incapable. Are you sterile, Pale King? Or is the thought of breeding me simply too much for a civilized bug like you to bear? Many other spiders would jump at the opportunity to have me, but if it is too much for you then I will accept any alternative ways you can think of. All I care about is a healthy, viable clutch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did not mean to push him too far, especially with the Pure Vessel in the room with him, but she was glad that she did. His cool, disdainful stare darkened, tail lashing under his robe, and, with a snarl that showed far too many teeth to possibly be reasonable, he said, "If I wanted you gravid, I'd hardly need to put in the effort."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why do you dally? This is the most that I demand of you, and it would be a more efficient way of ensuring that Deepnest accepts your peace offering than chipping it into stone.” She spread her claws wide, attempting to appear as nonchalant as possible with her heart in her throat. “I cannot Dream without knowing that I have an heir to take my throne. You cannot force me to accept your trade if I refuse to Dream, and so we have arrived at a standstill. Accept my request, and Deepnest will not only be willing to barter with you, but will accept you as the father of their future ruler. The future lies in your claws now, Wyrm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hissed, sharp mandibles flashing out from under the death-white glare of his mask, and seemed to hunch into himself. The tapping tempo of his claws on the table resumed, tail still lashing, as he considered what to say next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, in a tight, subdued voice, he whispered, “I will discuss it with the White Lady. She deserves to know of the circumstances. Allow me this, at the very least, before I promise you anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Relief crashed into her like a wave, driving up her heartbeat for a moment before allowing it to settle, back into its chest where it belonged. She had won. Not officially, not yet. She would not count it until she held her children in her arms, but she had gone against a god and won. She had gone against the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pale King </span>
  </em>
  <span>and won. The Lady was famed for her kind, understanding nature- it was the King who was known for his cold distance and emotionless persona, and she had cracked him like a particularly persistent pillbug. She was sure that the White Lady would see reason, if she had managed to convince her husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deepnest might have a future after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” She stood up, pushing her chair away with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>creak </span>
  </em>
  <span>of protesting metal. The Pale King watched her, but she could decipher nothing from his gaze; he had shut her off. Not that it mattered now, when she knew she ruled as victor, but she was an honourable sort, and she did not shirk away from her battles, even after she had already won one. “I will ask her myself.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sexytalk is gonna be in the next one, I swear. The inevitable spider coochie is fast approaching, my friends. Be ready!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. To Barter with a King</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have a bad habit of updating before final exams lmao</p><p>Also?? I swear I cursed myself with this fic??? Everyday I worked on a fic other than this, I would get nonstop spiders in my room. EVERY. SINGLE. DAMN. DAY.  I'd get a big fat spider in my fucking room, maybe two or three or some babies or a motherfucking daddy long leg if my day was feeling particularily cursed. EVERY GODDAMN DAY. It has since ceased since I resumed writing it but since I'm the only one in the house getting it I'm kinda freaked out ngl. Sorry I have no actual coochie for you, spooders. Pls get out of my room I have arachnaphobia</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The White Lady was as beautiful as the legends said she would be, as pure and ethereal as the coming spring, and her milky blue eyes were serene and sad as she surveyed Herrah over her cup of tea. She was like no bug that Herrah had ever seen; not even the Mosskin or Shrumgal warriors held a candle to the odd contours of her body, a bug's curves and form contrasting against her twisting roots and bark. Even the Pale King, for all his strange features, could be mistaken for a bug at first glance; the White Lady was not so, and she did not demand to fit in until every minor difference elicited unease, as her husband did. She merely <em> was </em>, an inevitable force of nature, a being of power twined into a form that perched daintily on the cusp of reality, and did not ask the world to see her as one of them.</p><p>She was also a hell of a lot more attractive than he was, for reasons that had nothing to do with how badly he cloaked himself in a bug's form. Not typically Herrah's type, but then again, that seemed to be the new normal for her now. She was daintier than Herrah usually liked her woman, yes, more elegant and refined than she'd normally go for, but she had curves and a steadiness to her that drew Herrah's eye much more than her twisting, slithering husband did. Alas, that fate should decree him to be the keeper of the dick, when she could see herself enjoying a necessary affair with his wife more than she could even start imagining him as anything more than a prick with a stick up his ass. And not one she was willing to retrieve, either.</p><p>"So your demand as a Dreamer was for a child by my husband?" Surprisingly, her voice was not at all similar to the whisper-soft sigh that the Pale King usually spoke in, but rather normal, a slight foreign edge the only facet of her speech that betrayed the fact that she was a god of equal power to the Pale King. That, and the lure she placed in her words; Herrah felt like she could lean into her voice and listen for as long as she kept talking, which was dangerous. The Queen did not seem predisposed to violence, but she was in foreign territory, and would need to tread quietly if she wished for her people to have a future.</p><p>The fact that she was alone with the King and Queen of Hallownest did not ease her worries, either. She was grateful that the Pure Vessel was no longer hovering over the King's shoulder like some great, looming shadow, and even more grateful that there was nobody around to listen to what was to be discussed- for the King had lead her to his quarters, where no servants dared go without his express permission- but the lack of her guards put her on edge. She was alone here, facing against two gods that had been hostile to her not a fortnight ago, and here she was, demanding a child from one of them. </p><p>"That's right," she said, circling her claw around the handle of her teacup; she knew not the rules of decorum for this place, but she could not let that stop her now. "I do not wish to intrude into your marriage, but I require an heir to rule Deepnest in my stead. I was hoping that your husband would be the sire, not only to give me a child strong enough for the task, but to also secure peace between our kingdoms. One with the blood of a god would rule uncontested in Deepnest, and it may help to bridge the gap between us. My kin do not trust the bugs of Hallownest, but they are unwavering in their devotion to me, and will accept any heir with my blood. As long as there is peace, they will keep it."</p><p>The White Lady hummed thoughtfully, tapping one fingerlike tendril against her own teacup. The Pale King stirred from his seat next to her (practically against her, really, as if he was convinced that Herrah was going to take him from her right then and there), and placed one hand on her wrist, drawing her attention down to him.</p><p>“There are other ways, if you do not approve of this bargain,” he said quietly. Herrah tipped her head at him- for that was <em> not </em> what she had heard when he came to discuss his plan with her- but he did not look at her, all his focus on his wife. “I can attempt the genesis remotely, if you offer some aid with the spells. If that does not work, then perhaps Vespa may be convinced-”</p><p>The White Lady set down her teacup, and covered his hand with hers, holding him in place. He exhaled, long and slow, but did not continue speaking, even as his shoulders grew rigid and his tail lashed once. </p><p>"Love," she said gently, "stop." </p><p>He stopped. Herrah did not know what transpired between them, but some of the tension in the Pale King’s form released, his head dipping as he relented. Gently, he extracted his hand from between the Lady’s, and returned to his position at her side, staring out over the silvery gardens. He did not look at Herrah, did not even acknowledge that she was there, but she could take no offense at his behavior- not when the White Lady’s attention had returned to her, and she found herself on the receiving end of a curious stare, eyes as blue as the lake above surveying her closely over the table. </p><p>It was said that the Lady was blind, or, at the very least, coming quite close to it- but gods did not decline the same way that mortal bugs did, and Herrah was sure that was the case for her. What did she see, then, with those pale blue eyes? What thoughts were balancing in her head, behind her gentle, peaceful smile? Herrah did not know, hadn't the faintest clue, really, but she made sure to stare back without backing down, without breaking. She had stood before the Pale King and won; she would stand before his wife as well, and not break nor bow, not until her deed was done and her homelands secured.</p><p>The White Lady blinked, as no tree ever should, and took a delicate sip from her cup. "Your heart is strong, Herrah of Deepnest. Strong, and fierce. I can see the conviction you have in saving your village, and this I respect. Of course, you have my blessing. If it is to allow both of our people to prosper, then I have no issue with allowing this dalliance to occur."</p><p>All the breath rushed out of Herrah in an instant. She set down her cup, fingers numb, and focused, just for a moment, on catching her breath. On letting her shock roll through her, feeling its icy hands clutch at her thorax, before it was replaced by a euphoria so intense that it left her giddy.</p><p>She had won. She had done it. The Lady approved of it. She had won.</p><p>Her village would be safe. She would be a mother. Even if only for a little while, she would have that opportunity.</p><p>And she could go willingly to her death, knowing that they would grow up in a world where they would be safe, away from the Old Light and the horrors it would bring.</p><p>Silently, the Pale King rose from his seat, and bowed to the White Lady, his movements exaggerated for her benefit. So startling from someone who had so staunchly refused to show the same submission to her, even in her own territory, but Herrah could not think to question it, or assess what that said of his character for future benefit. Her blood was rushing in her ears, joy and dread alike twisting in her chest.</p><p>She had secured her family's future, but it would cost her her life. How quickly this decision had come to her, and now there was no way that she could back out. A wish granted by a god had a hefty price to pay.</p><p>Ah. The Pale King was speaking. She should probably pay attention to him now, to watch how he acted with his wife and remember his cues for later. It was not always the determined hunter who caught their prey, but the observant one.</p><p>"My Lady," he murmured quietly, low enough that his whispers didn't echo. He did not look at Herrah once- it was as if she did not exist, as if the world had narrowed down to only the space between him and the White Lady. "If you would let me, I wish to take my leave."</p><p>Something in the White Lady's face flickered- sadness, acceptance- before that gentle, warm affection returned, so soft and so intimate that Herrah felt like she must turn away, even as her fading shock twisted into confusion. "Of course, dear. I will join you later, once the day draws to an end."</p><p>“I will await your company eagerly,” he whispered, and turned to leave, disappearing into the silver-white foliage with a soft rustle. It was almost eerie, how well he blended with it; Herrah had not felt the cold snap of Soul being cast, so she knew that he had not teleported away, but the garden covered him perfectly. She could not even hear him move away, his slithering footfalls masked by the soft, whispering breeze. </p><p>Wait. She still needed to discuss the terms of the bargain with him. Setting boundaries was essential with any magical being; she could not let him slip by her and have him show up to her door demanding her child the second that they hatched, or turn around and kill them the second she started dreaming. Nor did she have the slightest idea of how wyrms reproduced; she was, by now, quite accustomed to ignoring the desire to eat the flesh of her partner, but she had no idea if the same held true for him. What if she pushed him too far and he took out her throat? Mating was not often a gentle activity among carnivores, as she knew he was- those fangs he had flashed at her were made for tearing away chunks of flesh, and would be quite dangerous if used seriously. How did wyrm eggs develop, what did she need to do to properly nurture her clutch? She needed answers, and it was only now that she was alone with the White Lady that she realized how frustrated she was by him giving her the slip. </p><p>“So I assume we are to continue this conversation alone, then?” She asked, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. Perhaps that was just how business affairs were conducted in Hallownest, and she was being too hasty. These were ancient beings, after all; time worked differently here, warped to match their perception of its passage, and she was a stranger in their domain. She had no choice but to play by their rules, no matter how impatient she was to get this whole thing over with. </p><p>The White Lady, however, seemed to sense her plight. She hummed softly, calling Herrah’s attention back to her, and then calmly said “I must excuse my husband. Never has he desired any children of his own, and this prospect weighs heavily on him. Allow him some time to consider what lies before him, and then ask him whatever you wish. For now, though, let us enjoy our company together, and allow me to assuage any concerns that you may have regarding our meeting. The circumstances are dire enough to merit strange couplings, but I welcome the opportunity nonetheless.”</p><p>Oh, so she was genuinely okay with this bargain? Surprises, surprises. Of course, she could just be masking her emotions for politeness’s sake, but there was none of that pressing sensation of her thoughts on Herrah’s mind, like what had happened with the Pale King. No alien feelings pricked at hers, or left their echoes through her voice. There was sadness, yes, but sadness clung heavily to this cold white castle, enough that Herrah felt like she could attribute it directly to that more than anything else. </p><p>Still, she felt like she should confirm it before making any assumptions. From what she had seen so far, the Pale Court spoke truthfully of their burdens, albeit reluctantly and in a way that made their problems seem either far worse or far more manageable than they actually were. “I would be delighted, White Lady. Again, I apologize for intruding between you two. Had this whole deal with the Old Light never occurred, I would have never thought to ask for your husband's...assistance...in procuring an heir.”</p><p>“Do not fret, Queen Herrah. It brings me great joy that the war between our kingdoms may be assuaged in such a manner. That death and strife may be avoided in favor of the creation of life is a peace offering that allows my heart to rest easy, and in truth, you intrude between nothing. For though his heart is bound to mine, entwined in soul eternal, it is the nature of wyrms to seek the company of other partners, when the urge to breed has ceased." With one root-like hand, she cradled the half of a charm at her throat; faint lines formed the second half as she cupped it, flaring bright with soul, and she smiled down at it with a softness that felt, to Herrah, like sinking deep into a bed of moss when the earth was warm and the days tranquil. "Though my love does not abide the ways of his kin, many old instincts still linger. I do not begrudge him these, as he does himself, for as long as his heart remains mine I know he is still faithful. Nor can I begrudge you a child born of him, when you come to me in a time of desperation."</p><p>She lowered her hand, and the motes of glowing soul faded, returning to its dormant state, glowing softly against her collar. "No, Herrah of Deepnest, I do not resent you for this. Not when it is foreign to us for a strife to be settled so peacefully."</p><p>So gods didn't have much experience with ending rivalries peacefully. Herrah had not expected anything otherwise, with beings so proud, but it was a sobering fact to confront nonetheless, and not something she wished to ruin. She tapped a claw against the handle of her teacup, thinking hard about what she had to say, and then carefully said, "And yet Hallownest has no heir. While my plight is more pressing than yours, the fact remains that both of our kingdoms are devoid of a successor. I do not wish to steal your firstborn from you."</p><p>The White Lady went still. Just for a moment. Just for a breath. But it was enough, and when she smiled again it was shaky, and there was a definite sadness about her when she said,</p><p>"Worry not, Queen Herrah. You steal nothing from me. Hallownest shall have no heir." And in the span of a heartbeat, she was back to her normal self, distant and benign. Her voice was calm and cool as she spoke, just as detached as her husband- Herrah could see, now, how they could share their souls, for while the Lady was as gentle as he was cold, it was the detached sort of gentleness offered by nature, one that could harm or hurt if one did not know how to handle it. "Children beget from the union of gods are...volatile, and we do not wish to bring suffering to the peace of Hallownest. A future here with my husband is one easily chosen over the uncertainty of a clutch between us. Regrettable, of course, but such is the way of things. Sacrifices must be made to ensure the survival of our kingdom, above the desires of our hearts."</p><p>That, to Herrah, sounded quite unreasonable- caution taken too far was not a boon, but a burden- and then she remembered what the King had told her in her village, when she had proposed the idea, and understood. A proper ruler was one who gave all for the good of their people, and if the kin of wyrms were known to be kingdom-killers, it stood to reason why the Pale King would refuse his Lady a child, while reluctantly abiding her bid for his fatherhood. A demigod had a lesser chance of being a threat to him, but a full-blooded god would be a risk not worth taking. Even she, uncaring about the Pale Throne as she was, shuddered to think of the consequences that may result from such conflict. If this Infection was born of the malice of a nearly-forgotten god, then what horrors would be spawned from the bitter fight between parent and child?</p><p>She cashed away that information for later, and inclined her head to the Lady, who managed to track the movement with relative ease. "My condolences, then, but I am warmed to know that I am not causing more distress than necessary. Rest assured, I do not take this lightly, and am honoured by your leniency in the face of this uncertain future. The children born of this dalliance shall call you stepmother, then, if you wish, and your arms will not be empty."</p><p>The White Lady smiled, and it was softer than the one she had given before, far less etched with pain. Another small success for her, then, to have eased some of the tension between them. If speaking to her husband was like braving the coming winter, enduring whatever harsh storms he threw her way, then speaking to her was like watching the snowmelt, coaxing frail flowers from the cold, hard earth. "I would appreciate that immensely, Queen Herrah. May my husband treat you well, and your clutch be strong and healthy, so that I may sense my stepchildren running and playing through my gardens. To have little ones take solace in my plants is a future that I have always wished to come to pass."</p><p>"And if he can make it so, then it will come to pass. I can only hope that we shall have no complications with this clutch." She hesitated, trying to pick her words carefully- if the Pure Vessel was born of Root and Wyrm, then speaking of the struggle to produce a hybrid might be considered insensitive. The queen had not reacted badly to her before, but she knew that those from Hallownest were less blunt than the denizens of Deepnest. "It...is a struggle to have children with species different than yours. I can only hope that your husband can bypass the difficulties that my husband could not."</p><p>"Oh, he should, he should. He is more than capable, and if he fails, then he will not stop until he achieves success. Rest assured, my husband does not tolerate failure- if you are to have any difficulties, they would purely be mechanical ones." The White Lady was as nonchalant in her description of the Pale King's reproductive capabilities as he had been about neutralizing the infection. Herrah nodded along, and wondered if she would be forced to reply in a purely intellectual manner. She was not unlearned, but using technical manners to skirt around topics better suited to common slang was not her strong suit. Posh words only confused in the rutting seasons, when tempers were high and interests less aligned to listening and more towards fighting and fucking like animals; she did not begrudge the bugs of Hallownest for building a culture that valued privacy, but it often got in the way of getting things done. </p><p>The White Lady took another sip of her tea, then stopped, considering something. Herrah swirled what was left in her cup as she waited, running one fang over the other to better savor the lingering sweetness. Floral flavors did not grow so well in Deepnest, and the difficulty of trading with Hallownest meant that securing such sweet beverages was an occasion best saved for feasts- </p><p>“If you have trouble getting him aroused, then slowly rub a finger against the seam of his slit,” the White Lady proclaimed, in the same tone of voice that one might announce the weather, “he is particularly receptive to teasing. If that does not work, then try pinning one set of arms and grind against him. Either way, he should yield to you in the end; that's what he enjoys with me. He might hiss at you for trying, though. My love does not like to show weakness to those foreign to him, even if it is something that he agreed to.”</p><p>Herrah choked on her tea.</p><p>“Oh dear,” the White Lady said, alarmed, as she reached out to steady her. “Is talking about mating considered an impolite topic in Deepnest? My apologies, Queen Herrah, it has been quite a while since I had any spider guests.”</p><p>“No, no,” coughed Herrah, thumping her thorax; her heart was going a mile a minute, so startled was she by the direct nature of the queen's speech, “you are quite alright. I merely did not expect you to be so nonchalant about it, as the queen-goddess of Hallownest; the bugs of your kingdom have a reputation for being rather, ah... strict about it.”</p><p>“And I have no idea why,” the White Lady said, looking rather confused, “for it is is merely a facet of life, like eating or breathing, and the lives of mortals are so short that sex is demanded of you to aid in your perpetuation. Intimacy I understand, the desire to covet those you hold dear. But breeding? Breeding is not always about intimacy. There is nothing to be ashamed of."</p><p>Apparently, the gods of Hallownest did not adhere to the ways of their people. Herrah felt amusement bubble up in her chest (by the deeps, she hoped that wasn’t more tea), but did not try to keep the mirth out of her voice when she said, “Fear not, White Lady, for I quite agree with you. I do not know how involved you get with negating the arguments between some of your people, but when mating season comes, I find it quite convenient to cut straight to the chase, particularly when dealing with hormonal teenagers. That being said, however, perhaps you should wait until later to offer me some tips to handle your husband? I have to meet with him later, after all, and I would rather my thoughts be...unclouded.”</p><p>The White Lady laughed, joyous and relieved. “I am quite glad to hear that you are willing to speak directly with me. Nor can I blame your eagerness, Queen Herrah. I am aware how difficult it is to resist the urge to propagate, when offered it. Two queens are we, and our brood may grant us power, but there are only so many children that this land can take. Especially with how fierce our children would be, strong of will and strong of mind. It would be as much of a plague as the curse of light, albeit one lovingly crafted.”</p><p>Yet another warning against propagating with gods, but Herrah found that it inspired hope in her rather than fill her with alarm. If their clutches were as large as the White Lady was implying, then a higher success rate was possible. She would have a hard time of it, yes, but the village medics were known for their skill, and the higher the amount of eggs in the clutch, the higher the chance of her offspring surviving to their hatchdate. She didn’t know how that would translate over to the King just yet, but it eased some of the worry gnawing away at her chest. “Agreed, Pale Queen. I will look forward to our later meetings, then, when we could discuss what we wish freely, without worrying about it tampering with my thoughts later, when business is at hand.”</p><p>The White Lady laughed again, and they conversed for a while longer about the perils of ruling a kingdom, the differences between the bugs under their care, the burying of drained feeder corpses within the soil to support the Queen’s Gardens above and the conditions of the union between Hallownest and Deepnest. Though the Lady was as strange and alien as the legends claimed she would be, she obliged by the rules that gods often followed, and Herrah found that she had little difficulty in talking to her about the perils of kingdom-running. She was careful not to dispense too much knowledge about Deepnest- and the Lady did not ask, perhaps in a feat of goodwill towards her neighbor- but was pleasantly surprised to find that they got along quite well. Herrah’s blunt nature did not clash with the Lady’s more refined, distant manner, like she expected, but rather complimented it. Nor did the queen of Hallownest seem to have any qualms about discussing certain topics, laughing and speaking frankly about topics that the bugs under her rule would have taken great offense of. </p><p>So it was with a lighter heart that Herrah bid her farewell, and rose to follow the wingmould that summoned her, invigorated by her knowledge that one royal, at least, seemed to have no issue with her. She had to steel herself for the task ahead, yes, cursed with the knowledge that the Pale King would be a much harder target to wrangle than his wife, but she had won this war, and he was merely there to guide the circumstances of the treaty, not to offer a counterattack.</p><p>The little whirring contraption of metal and soul moved slowly enough through the halls of the palace for her to look around and assess the view, taking note of the twisting paths and branching hallways that made up the heart of its structure. Back here, by the queen's personal gardens, the blinding white stone of the main halls faded to a dark, metallic grey, and the ornate decorations gracing the palace's front were shirked in favor of the King's hard-edged, angular insignias. It was far easier on the eyes than the frontal end of the castle, but came nowhere near the comforting, earthy dark of Deepnest, for the pale lights cast in the cavern beyond the walls still reflected brightly off of the cool marble floors, throwing a white glow over the metallic, shimmering walls. Even as the wingmould lead her deeper and deeper into the corridors, there was always a light there to greet her, from the flickering glow of the lumaflies and time-candles to the static, starlight shine of the soul orbs hanging in the dark cavern outside the windows. Herrah felt like she was no longer truly underground, but walking through a kingdom among the stars, like in the old Weaver legends when they spoke of the mother who spun a bridge to the moon so that she could plea for it to protect her daughter from the hunters that chased her from her home.</p><p>(And for a moment she blinked, and saw not the hallway before her but a towering, cleft mountain from which a pale light shone, and her joints were heavy and sand-scarred as she begged the new god before her to be more merciful to her children than the last had been to her. She sank to her knees in the cold, barren wasteland knowing that the god before her had every right to reject her, to cast them away and let them be swallowed by the darkness between the gilded land and the kingdom where Higher Beings and mortals mingled as one, and it was only by the grace of that shining, pale light that they were allowed in, and forgiven.)</p><p>When the wingmould finally stopped, it was before a door that was darker than the walls around it, stamped with the sharp, unforgiving lines of the King's Brand. Two kingsmoulds guarded it, as still as statues, with their sharp, curved scythes in hand; they did not look at her, their lifeless white eyes staring out into the empty hallways beyond, and made no move to open the doors for her. She glanced at the wingmould that had lead her to the King, expecting it to announce her prescence instead, but all it did was hover at the doorway like a particularily fat, stupid boofly, so she took a breath, knocked sharply on the door, and went in. </p><p>The interior of the King's workshop was a mess of cluttered parts, its dark, cramped quarters a sharp contrast from the roomy, ethereal corridors outside. Colder, too, with a chill in the air that almost made her want to breathe out into the faint light like a tiny spiderling again, to see if it misted before her fangs- an urge she only barely suppressed, as she looked around in search of the King, stepping slowly past shelves full of empty armour pieces, moulds carved for six-limbed figures, and stones that lit up with soul-etched lettering as she moved past them, whispering haunting, nonsensical words into her mind.</p><p>
  <em> Eternity potential, force that could deny Time… </em>
</p><p>
  <em> No blazing kin... </em>
</p><p><em> Eternity in promise and charge in progeny cursed. </em> </p><p>Even with the darkness pressing in around her, it took her a good few minutes to find him, his light hidden behind a tank of dark, murky substance that seemed to shift and ripple with a mind of its own. Over a broken wingmould he hunched, four arms working in tandem; motes of pure darkness rose from the shining metal, and these he bound with small flashes of Soul, trapping them in a net above the automatron before filtering them back down to the construct below. He seemed to take no notice of her presence, focused entirely upon the project before him, but she, keen-eyed hunter of the dark depths below, saw the way that his wings twitched and folded tight against his back, and knew that he was aware of her in his den.</p><p>She crossed her arms under her veil to stave off some of the cold, staring at him from beyond the reach of his light, and tried to quell the irritation rising in her chest when her guiding wingmould puttered over to circle about his head rather than make any effort to announce her arrival again. Really, what did she have to do to get some respect around here? She was aware that her status as a mortal ranked her below that of a god, but the White Lady had been perfectly cordial with her in the gardens. She wasn’t sure if it was a testament to his reclusive nature or his tendency to be petty that he ignored her now, when he was the one who had lured her into his workshop.</p><p>(She was not a fan of bartering for her child here, in this strange dark space where the air was still and cold and quiet, but she was in the wyrm’s den now, and that, if anything, was more proof that she had won her end of this little bargain.)</p><p>"Herrah the Beast." His whispering did not echo here, curiously muffled in the gloom, but trailed into her mind with a soft sigh, as if it really did not wish for her to be here but had no other option but to rise to greet her. "We trust that Our lady treated you well."</p><p>"Yes, indeed she did. Better than I would have expected, given what I am here for." She walked over to him, uncalled and unbidden- he turned his head slightly as she approached, but made no move to stop her, gesturing at a clear space opposite him for her to rest while he worked on finishing up with the wingmould. The door slid shut behind her, creaking on silent hinges, but she did not bother to spare it a glance. She couldn't, not with her attention focused on the Pale King, and the upcoming struggle that she was sure was going to happen. "We got along quite well, all things considering. But now we are here to discuss the Dreamer Plan, and what I wish from it, and all that it entails."</p><p>"Yes, as expected," the Pale King muttered, sliding the wingmould to the edge of the table; with a flicker-flash of Soul, it activated again, and whirred silently off to join its fellow, puttering away towards the shelves rimming the workshop. He followed their path, watching them settle side by side, and did not look at her. "We have taken much into consideration. For example, the tariffs for trade will have to be increased if you refuse to let Us build a more effective means of-"</p><p>"I did not intend to come here to talk about taxes, Pale King, I came here to talk about sex," she interrupted, already annoyed with the measures he intended to impose onto Deepnest, "or, more specifically, how copulation among wyrms works, and the way this whole matter is going to be carried out. Do not forget that the fate of this entire deal hinges on whether or not you can give me an heir, and it is only until we have established that goal that I will even <em> begin </em>to speak about taxes."</p><p>The Pale King's glow brightened, and his mandibles worked under his mask- she saw it, the way that the edges of his face blurred and shifted as razorblade fangs slipped and slid against each other. Though his voice remained flat and neutral, she thought that she caught an edge of annoyance in it, or something close to it. "We fail to see why We must discuss this here. The method is straightforward and simple. It is one that We are more than capable of doing properly, and so We see no need to speak for much of it."</p><p>She barely suppressed a snort of disbelief at his reluctance, not at all willing to let him slip by <em> this </em>particular conversation. She had kicked out potential mates for not abiding by it before, and she would not tolerate the one partner she could not afford to reject skirting around something so important. "Oh, no no no. We are talking about this, right here, right now. Because despite the circumstances, I have no desire to force you into something that you are uncomfortable with, and if we do go down this route, I need to know just what I'm going to get into."</p><p>The Pale King stilled, scrutinizing her closely. After a moment, his head tipped to the side again, in that same strange, disjointed sliding manner as before, and in a voice perfectly detached from the conversation at hand, he asked, "You would value my comfort, then, over your own goals?"</p><p>All of the fur on her body stood on end, bristling under her veil. Was he surprised by her desire to seek other options, rather than fuck him and be done with it? Did he honestly think that she was here to use him like a toy, to take what she wished from him and discard him the moment his task was done? She was glad she started this talk then, then, for the concept chilled her to her very core. There was winning a war and arguing out a treaty with your rivals, and then there was senseless plunder- and she, at least, still held fast to the concept of honour. "Not <em> over </em> . But in <em> tandem </em>, Pale King. You claimed that remote genesis was possible- tell me then, why this was not something you mentioned beforehand? If it bothers you less than sex, then it is something I am willing to try, as long as the child resulting from it is keen in mind and hearty in body."</p><p>He sighed, and the moment from before passed, his posture straightening up into what she was beginning to think of as his 'teaching' pose. "Yes, remote genesis is possible, but it would have to be a last resort. Though it is something that Our Lady can do with little effort, Our magic does not follow the same rules, and ensuring a healthy clutch from such an event depends entirely on the spell, your receptiveness to Our soul, and Our capability of cleaving away the parts of Ourselves required to properly create life. It is a lengthy process, requiring much time and research to dedicate to, and runs the high risk of ending with a clutch more god than mortal, or a child devoid of key components, like a soul or clear physical form.” He shook his head, and spread his hands out in a vague gesture before tucking them back into the folds of his robe. “We would only resort to such tactics in times of dire need- otherwise, biological copulation is the easier and more effective of the two."</p><p>“Drop the use of the royal pronouns, Pale King, I don’t want this conversation to feel like the entirety of Hallownest is planning on mating with me,” she sighed, then leaned back in her seat, tapping her claws together as she mulled over his words. “So fucking is the best way of going about it,” she muttered, ignoring the way his Kingslight brightened, then asked, “I know that you said you’re viable- and your wife supported this claim, don’t think that we didn't talk about it after you left- but I will be honest with you, Wyrm, as I expect you to be with me. I have had experiences with attempting to carry hybrid clutches before, and without magical support, it is a near-impossible process. Both my husband and I were fertile, and yet many of our attempts failed before my time to lay came. By breeding with you, I am hoping to avoid that, for there are horror stories spoken of some of the hybrids begat by the aid of carelessly-cast magic, and I do not wish for that to be the case with my heir.”</p><p>The overlapping chitin plates on the back of the Pale King’s neck bristled for a moment, a sight that would be deeply amusing if it weren’t for the subject matter. “No, the magical properties that make up most of my being should not have an effect on your children. Deliberate spells are easily misworded, and add a third party's influence to the mix, but in my case, it is merely a byproduct of my nature, as natural to my being as flesh and blood." He narrowed his eyes for a moment, staring off into the distance as he thought it over, then whispered, "No. No, even if my soul were to mingle with yours, a key component in the process of procreation with gods, then it should have little effect on the resulting clutch. The offspring created between us will have marks of my influence, but if my theories are correct, the tampering should be minimal."</p><p>She dug her claws into her palms, so that he may not see how irritated she was with his speech. Did he really think that he could get away with selling himself off to her, like some sort of livestock stud, to do his duty and never be seen again? She did not wish to bind herself to this strange, foreign king, anymore than he did to her, but she did not know how much time she had to spend with her children before the Infection required her attention. She had planned on saving childcare planning for after he finished telling her how wyrms reproduced, but his cold detachment did not sit well with her. <em> "Our </em> children, Pale King. And you did not answer my question from before, about fertility and the persistent pain of bringing hybrid children into this world."</p><p>He sighed, long and heavy, and leaned back on his tail, fiddling with a shining silver screw with his lower set of arms. A nervous tic, or his way of harmlessly working off hidden aggression? "Yes. Ours. Herrah, I cannot speak to you on the ease of siring demigods, for I have not tried, and among wyrms, such a thing is nigh-impossible due to size disparities and territorial disputes. I have no previous data to work with, and thus cannot speak of the compatibility between us."</p><p>He dropped the screw, and shifted his posture so that he could rest his elbows on the table and stare at her, like what she did to him back in Deepnest. With how small he was, the effect was nothing short of comedic, and she had to bite back a snicker as she looked down at him, still as deadly serious as ever despite the size disparity. "I can, however, assure you this- it would not be my seed that fails to throw you an heir. As long as my intent is for it to grow, as long as I am consciously attempting to produce offspring, then it matters not where I sow it. I cannot, however, speak for your own body- Herrah. This is no laughing matter."</p><p>Herrah, caught in the middle of suppressing a laugh, merely snorted and waved him off. His put-out expression did not help her; she had not even realized he could <em> make </em> such a face, and it amused her despite the high stakes in the matter...or, perhaps, because of it. Damn formal Hallownest and their intricate social rules! In Deepnest she would have already had the wine caskets cracked open, and the few glasses of alcohol allotted to them would have taken the edge off of a conversation that basically boiled down to a sexual welfare check-up. "Rest assured, Pale King, I do not jest at your expense. I merely did not expect you to speak with such...floral metaphors."</p><p>His put-out expression morphed to a scowl, and his voice rumbled and hissed like a coming cave-in; a scary thing to hear, all things considering, but she had been hissed at by him before and survived, so she didn't pay much mind to the low, threatening growl. "My wife is a plant, Herrah, one whose soul I share and cherish. Over the long years together, I have picked up some of her vernacular. The metaphors are quite useful when discussing matters such as <em> these </em>."</p><p>"What, concerned saying 'your dick' wouldn't suffice? Or are you just embarrassed to name your parts in such crude terms?" Mischief struck her, and she tilted her mask back so that he could see her fangs as she grinned at him. Might as well have a little fun while she was at it, eh? "Ai, what word do you use in Hallownest, anyways? Your quihillelillie? Your prong? Your spindle?"</p><p>"My what," he asked flatly.</p><p>"You have eyes, yes? Have you ever <em> seen </em> a spindle before, Pale King?" An idea struck her, and she chuckled to herself for a moment before saying, "Oh, but maybe you call it a fork among these parts, eh?"</p><p>"Herrah," he sighed, exasperated. "Please. Do not stray off task."</p><p>'Wouldn't dream of it, Wyrm. So you say that it boils down to my own body rejecting the hatchlings, then?" Her amusement simmered down to a manageable level, a grim sort of determination settling in its place. "You can give me better odds at carrying a clutch to term, better than most mortals, at least, but you can't guarantee that they will survive to hatching?"</p><p>"In essence. I know for a fact that I can get you pregnant, and my kind's flexible nature ensures a relatively high chance that some healthy offspring can be obtained from each mating. However, we may face certain difficulties in the process." He leaned forward a bit, drawing his hands out of the sleeves of his robes. The nervous fidgeting was back, and he tapped his claws against each other in a one-two-three beat a few times before reaching for the silver bolt again. "These can be overcome with some effort, but fear not- I do not intend to stop until I have upheld my end of the bargain. If I sense that the time to dream is coming, and you are still without an heir, then I will seek alternative methods to create a child with you, no matter how difficult they may be."</p><p>"That's good to hear, because if I haggle out the tax policy with you for nothing, I will personally outlast the Old Light itself so that I could beat you in the head for not upholding your promise," she said wryly. "But I am fine with either way. Let me assure you again, Pale King, that I am thoroughly uninterested in taking you to bed for the fun of it- I do this merely because Deepnest requires a suitable heir, and the union of our families would prove to be a great benefit to both of our kingdoms in the future, even if they will only rule over one of their homes."</p><p>Faint surprise flickered in the Pale King's eyes, before he masked it with his usual dull indifference. "So you intend to partially raise them within the White Palace? I did not...anticipate this."</p><p>"What else would I do, Pale King? They do not deserve to live only in the shadows of Deepnest- you will be their father, after all, and the White Lady their future foster mother. It is a common tactic between kingdoms looking to strengthen trade bonds- I have happily fostered some hivelings myself, though I’m not entirely sure if my joy in it was mutual. But enough about the specifics of that for now." She tried to keep her faint exasperation out of her voice- stars, she was already dreading the impending parenting discussion- and leaned over the table, propping her chin up with two of her hands. "I want to talk about wyrm sex."</p><p>The scales on the back of the Pale King's neck bristled again, his glow brightening until it was near-painful for a moment before dying down to a reasonable level. When she finally blinked the blurriness from her eyes, she found him back in that stiff, almost academic pose, his fidgeting claws hidden again behind his robes. "There is not much to say about the matter. It's sex."</p><p>"Yes, we've established that already, but I thought we also established the fact that I am walking into this arrangement blind. I do not know your habits, or your behavioral cues," Herrah said, voice as dry as the blinding sands beyond the world, "or important things that I must avoid, like how I must avoid the urge to eat whoever I happen to be in the middle of fucking. You understand how spider mating works, right?"</p><p>"Unfortunately, yes. To an extent. Enough. Monomon's desire for...details...is as intense as her focus," he muttered, before straightening his posture and looking somewhere to the right of where her eyes were. Was it submission that tempered him, or embarrassment? Was the King, against all odds and expectations, <em> bashful? </em>Herrah could not help but be amused by the idea that a god who was married to the White Lady- who, by all means, would happily talk about anything from death to politics to sex, if given the cue- could ever be so shy about it. "There are many factors at hand when breeding with any of my race. Given the limitations of time, your compatibility with me, and certain magical factors, many of the potential options have been eliminated, leaving only what is generally the standard act of copulation among many mortals. Where do you wish for me to begin?"</p><p>"Give me the overarching breeding cycle, from courting to early childhood," Herrah replied promptly- she had already thought of this inquiry the moment that she had heard him accept her offer. All she had to do before taking him to bed was figure out any kinks in the thread before she tied it off. "Pretend that I am a student or fellow teacher, if you wish. I require facts about fucking in general, it doesn't have to be sexy."</p><p>He twitched again at the word 'fuck', but otherwise reguarded her seriously. The silver screw disappeared into the sleeves of his robes, to be replaced with a screw that he slid between his claws, carefully rubbing out the bends in the fine metal. "Very well. Allow me a moment to think this over- I do not wish to exacerbate your confusion.”</p><p>"As you wish." Not wanting to appear too threatening, she leaned back a bit, and watched as he mulled it over. He rubbed by the right eye socket of his mask, staring off into the distance, then straightened his posture and took a deep breath, that attention-pulling edge returning to his voice as he spoke.</p><p>"The breeding behaviors of my kin are, in essence, quite simple, but as a race of gods with relatively fluid forms and a deep connection to magic, there are many different subsets of breeding phenomena that may be found within certain populations." He paused for a moment, tipping his head at her, and resumed when she nodded and gestured for him to continue. "To simplify things, I will refer to primarily egg-developing individuals as female, and for individuals capable of fertilization as male, though this is a greatly limited definition that assumes each wyrm only wishes to breed one way, as is the case for one such as I."</p><p>"So you are a naturally intersex race? Interesting." Herrah could not help the curiosity stirring in the back of her mind- she was not a scholarly sort by nature, but finding any information on this reclusive, mysterious creature was an experience that merited her attention. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage later, if she needed to get him aroused faster.</p><p>"Most gods that sexually reproduce are. The relative scarcity of us in comparison to mortals paired with the conditional immortality and fluidity of the form often leads to many gods taking their pickings of the genitalia available. Wyrms are no different." He clasped his hands tightly together, and took another deep breath. "However, given the context of our past conversations, I am going to assume you are a female that carries eggs. Our reproductive options, therefore, are somewhat narrowed, and leave out certain possibilities."</p><p>He hesitated again, searching for words. Curiosity clutched her, and, hoping that she would not further deter him from this conversation, asked "Certain possibilities? Such as what? If it works, it works, I don't particularly care about the process as long as both the child and I are healthy by the end of it"</p><p>He tensed, rubbed his eye again, and sighed, long-suffering and pained. She leaned back a little more, trying not to crowd him, but he merely returned to fidgeting with the edge of his robe before mumbling, "...Oviposition. While it would ensure that fertilization occurs in an ideal scenario, that is impossible with our current limitations. Certain stimuli may trigger the response in myself, but I am currently incapable of internal fertilization or clutch-carrying, and you cannot do the same if I was to lay the egg within you. Hormone-triggered magical genesis is another option, but is deeply intimate on such a primal level and may cause irreversible changes to you that I do not wish to inflict."</p><p>A chill went down Herrah's spine. As calm as he was right now, not at all the regal, irritable ruler he was back in Deepnest, it was easy to see how unnerved he was by the idea. She couldn't quite pin it beneath her claw, but there was something in the tone of his voice and the rigid way he held himself that implied that wasn't an option, and she was thoroughly uninterested in poking him further to figure it out. </p><p>"So a more traditional mating it is," she announced, and then decided to switch the subject, for the benefit of both of them. "Now, what about behavior? I do not wish to be surprised by something aggressive in the middle of a fuck, only to realize it was a normal thing for you all along."</p><p>The Pale King twitched again at the word 'fuck', but continued on in his monotonous whisper as if nothing had ever happened. "Courting is a complicated affair. Typically, when a wyrm enters their first breeding cycle, they will spend the first section of it chasing after the scents of others that they find appealing, so that when they find one they are interested in, their cycle starts in full. They will then attempt to approach the chosen individual and indicate their interest through benign behaviors such as tail-pulling and gentle nipping, if they are lucky enough to run into their potential mate's tail." </p><p>He hesitated, shoulders hunching; she saw his mandibles working again, and his wings twitched upwards a bit, as if he was doing his best to approximate a grimace. "It is a dangerous affair. If the other wyrm is not receptive, and is confronted in a less-than-optimal position, chances of being fatally wounded are high. And if they decide that they are uninterested partway through the courting fight, then death is a near-certain occurrence. I am detailing a male-female encounter at the moment, as it is the closest to our breeding, but this high risk is equal for all of the different sex variations that exist."</p><p>"Such was the way of the spiders, before we learned to temper our ways and tuck away our fangs when the blood starts pumping," Herrah murmured, hoping that it would calm him. His disgust at his own kind's mating behaviors was near-palatable, but she supposed that she could understand his disdain if his preferences tended towards the gentler sorts, such as with his Lady. "Rest assured, Pale King, I am hardly going to judge you for your instincts. So you say that fighting is a common means of courting, then?"</p><p>"Not common, essential, especially if chasing a female. They are brutal and aggressive, far more so than the males, and prefer to pick partners that can match them in power, or hold their own in a fight. The fiercer the mate, the stronger the children." The last part of his sentence came out as a mumble; he was focusing on the silver spring again, almost to the extent of all else. In the physical world, his voice was calm, but she could feel the disdain dripping from the echoing whispers in his mind, oddly self-centered.</p><p>What a strange creature, this wyrm was. She could not fathom hating her own mating instincts; even if they got annoying sometimes, when she was in season, it was nothing more than a feverish itch beneath her shell, easily ignored once old enough to recognize it. </p><p>"If they are receptive, then the two wyrms will coil around each other, lock jaws, and grapple back and forth until one of them yields, or the female is impressed enough or aroused enough to allow the male to penetrate her." The Pale King made a hand gesture vaguely approximating a thrust. She was glad for her mask; it hid how she smiled at his awkward twitching, or the suspicion slowly rising the more he spoke. "If she is not suitably impressed, however, or the male is the one chased and uninterested, then the invading wyrm will often switch their objective to one of conquering, and attack with the intent to kill.”</p><p>That...explained a lot about his behavior. She grimaced behind her mask, seeing their past encounters through his eyes; what had been a headache-inducing meeting of rival rulers to her had turned into a come-on to him, one that he was unwilling to accept and was wary of rejecting. Was <em> incapable </em> of rejecting, technically, though from her limited read on him he seemed less perturbed by the idea of mating with her and more upset at the prospect of siring an heir. “Pale King. I have no intent to conquer your lands, nor do I wish to cause you physical harm. The children will be mine to keep- they will not take your throne, even if they spend some days here in the White Palace. Taking Hallownest would be a mess that I have no intent to deal with; I merely wish to keep my village safe.”</p><p>“Do you now,” he replied, quiet and deadly, before sighing and dipping his head down and to the side, baring a sliver of throat. This, if anything, seemed like a gesture of submission to her, one that she did not quite understand but appreciated nonetheless, as it tempered the mild irritation sparking through her at his rebuttal. “Of course you do. Apologies. You are not the first female to come to me seeking my seed, but you are the first to repeatedly express a desire for peaceful alternatives. That was unwarranted.”</p><p>“Is it now? Because I can hardly blame you for reacting with aggression, given your past experiences with it.” She set her claws down on the table, tapping its cold, smooth surface, and sighed. “This is <em> exactly </em> why we are having this conversation, Pale King. So do you wish for me to temper any aggressive moves I will make? The primary objective is to get you off, after all, and I would rather make the most of it and have it be an enjoyable experience for the both of us instead of an arduous task to fulfill a treaty. This is <em> technically </em>a joyous occasion, after all.”</p><p>“Do not...worry about being aggressive. I am...receptive to it. It is built into my very nature.” The Pale King’s glow was back to a near-unbearable level again, and this time she saw him cringe with the effort to tamp it down, his trembling wings the only part of him moving. “If anything, I am the one who should tread carefully. There is a...mating bite that the males do to hold the female in place during copulation. I possess a strong hold over my instincts, but there are...certain...<em> inhibitions </em> that are lowered in such cases. You do not have my Root’s bark to protect yourself from my fangs.”</p><p>She snorted, and waved him off, feeling only a little sorry when he flinched. Apparently, he had not listened to <em> all </em>of Teacher Monomon's reports, if he thought some biting would bother her! “Do not worry, Pale King, biting is an essential part of spider mating as well. I have tough skin, and I can dry bite, if it helps you get aroused. Nor do I have any qualms with you biting me, if it makes you feel any better; if you time it right, I may even enjoy it. We are not that different in that regard.” </p><p>“You have not been bitten by a wyrm before,” he whispered. His rigid posture was unsettling, compared to the casual fidgeting from before; he looked less like a being of flesh and more like a creature carved from marble, his dark, shimmering eyes the only part of him that seemed alive. “We are made to carve through rock and flesh like it is nothing. Our spines and scales are the only thing that can defend against the bite of another wyrm, and it is no guarantee by any means.”</p><p>“Then we will fashion a muzzle or something. It may even be stimulating for you, who knows? Only time will tell.” She shrugged, trying not to imagine him in a muzzle- one woven with black and silver might look fetching on him, and the thought of him rigged up sent a low throb of heat through her belly, one that she studiously ignored for now. To have the King of Hallownest, tied up and submissive in her bed...now <em> that </em> was a prize she was interested in taking. But only if he yielded to her. Only if he did it because he chose to, not out of some twisted sense of duty or fear of his own fangs. “I do not care either way. As long as I can wring an orgasm or two out of you, then it works for me.”</p><p>He made a strangled noise that sounded vaguely like two nails scraping together, if nails could be in agonizing pain and mortal embarrassment. “Perhaps. I am capable of healing you if it comes to it. However, I would rather avoid such an encounter- you simply need to be aware that it is a possibility.”</p><p>“And know that it is the same for me as well, though I have experience tempering my biting instinct. You are not the first non-spider I have taken to bed.” She watched him curiously as he nodded, stiff as a board. “Do you have anything that you wish to avoid other than that? Again, I do not wish to press you into something that you are uncomfortable with, and avoiding certain behaviors is easy enough. This need not be a chore.”</p><p>“If something prohibits my ability to finish my task, then I will let it be known. You can hardly force me into something that I am deeply uncomfortable with; I have waged wars for less.” He frowned, staring off into the middle distance, before stating, quite firmly, "I shall assume the same for you, and heed your barriers, as you have done for me. Let us establish your conditions here, now, before any hormones cloud our judgement."</p><p>“Lucky for you, my list is quite short,” she said, and stared him down; his eyes flickered to hers, his reluctance dissipating somewhat, and she waited until she felt the full weight of his attention settle onto her before she continued, taking on a stern tone. “But I expect for <em> none </em> of my rules to be violated. Starting with this: no thrallspeak, whatsoever. I know that you are capable of it, Pale King; I have felt it, and I have seen you use it on my people before. Even if such cases were mild, I will not tolerate it when mating, when both of our guards are down and we are vulnerable. And if I awake from a daze and find that you have used it on me to manipulate me in any way, the consequences <em> will </em> be severe, god or not.”</p><p>Privately, she feared his rejection, but instead of bristling up again or taking offense, he stared seriously back at her, and nodded his assent. “An understandable limitation. I swear this to you, Herrah the Beast, that by my honour as the King of Hallownest and the god of these caverns I shall not purposefully use my words or power against you with malicious intent. In the heat of passion, true control is not something that I can promise, but it shall be regulated to the best of my abilities, and I will cull it the moment that it presents itself. This, I will swear to you, by my blood and my honour.”</p><p>She was not entirely sure if she was pleased with how he slipped around the issue, but she found that she could voice no complaint with it; even with her on guard, even in this still, quiet room, his voice and his light hooked into her mind and tugged like ghostly threads on the very make of her being. He was a god, a creature of the earth and the wind and the sky as much as he was flesh and blood, and she did not expect the same things from him that she would from a mortal lover. “Many thanks. Second, I must tell you that I already plan for our children to train with the Hive Queen, Vespa. We have been allies for many years now, and have sealed a pact that we each would train the other’s progeny, when they were old enough to handle a weapon. She has decided to never have an heir, and thus I hold no technical responsibility for her kin, but once she hears about my children, she will wish to uphold her end of the bargain.”</p><p>Mild confusion flickered over the Pale King’s face- or, rather, his body, as she slowly learned to read his language- before he nodded again. “Hallownest has good relations with the Hive. Though they reject our plan in its perpetuation, we can respect the upkeep of their traditions. If you wish for your children to be raised under Queen Vespa’s wings, then I have no issue with it. Should the time come after you become a Dreamer, we will ensure that your desires are upheld.”</p><p>So far, so good, but she could already sense that her next two requirements might be a little difficult to wring out of him. She studied him, taking in the way that the tight curl of his tail had relaxed somewhat, and then said, carefully, “I also wish for you to go over wyrm rearing and early life with me and our head midwife later on, once we know that I will carry a clutch to term. She is a skilled professional, adept in childcare, but neither of us know of the essentials to raising the child of a god, and I do not wish to lose any of my children to accidental neglect. She may insist on doing a physical examination on you in the process.”</p><p>He tensed again, robes shifting as his tail coiled back around himself. Sensing a potential rebuttal, she quickly jumped back to what she was saying, raising one hand to keep him from speaking. “I do not expect for you to remember much from your early years, but remember, Wyrm, that she is a skilled medical professional. She has had years of experience dealing with manners relating to sex, mating, egg care, and childrearing, and will remain professional as long as you remain courteous.”</p><p>“It is not that which bothers me,” he grumbled, but nodded anyways, a tight little movement. She could not see his hands, hidden away beneath his robes, but she could see the cloth moving as he fidgeted beneath the sleeves. “Very well. I will allow for this examination to occur, provided that she remains respectful. I do not freely show my body to others, Herrah; this is an unusual enough situation as is, necessitated by these trying times.”</p><p>“I do not plan on parading you around naked before the village, Pale King, or taking you in front of her,” she said dryly. “It would be more for ensuring she will understand the potential morphological differences between standard hatchlings of my race and our hybrid children. You will not need to subject yourself to fertility tests, so needless to say, your privacy needs will be met and upheld.”</p><p>“Very well. This I can accept as well.” He stretched his back, a slow, sinuous flex that flicked his six glimmering wings out into the scarce light of the workshop. Her eyes snapped to the shimmering glow, momentarily enraptured by their delicate, heavenly glow, before she focused back on him, unnerved by the effect his light had on her. If it was a deliberate ploy to divert her attention, he showed no sign of it, folding them neatly against his back while fixing her in his usual serious stare. “Anything else that you wish to request from me?”</p><p>“Yes, I have only one more prerequisite.” She tapped the claws of her sword arm against the palm of her writing hand, trying to subtly break his spell on her. How would his light affect her, with him sprawled naked in her bed? Hopefully nothing that would make a fool out of her; she took great pride in her ability to keep a steady mind, even in the throes of her heat, but there was thinking past the persistent nervous itch under her skin during the mating season, and there was getting sucked into the undertow of a god’s influence. “I wish for you to have some influence in our hatchling’s lives. You say that the time I need to Dream may vary, yes?”</p><p>Something flickered in his eyes- fear? Anger? Reluctance? She could not tell- before he let out a short, hissing sigh. “Yes. The threads of time are convoluted, and the future reveals no absolutes other than the certainty of failure if no action is taken to prevent it. I do not know when I must call you to Dream, only that there is some time allotted before the shortest thread merges with our timeline.”</p><p>“Then I must ask for your compliance in raising my children. Not lightly do I ask this of you, Pale King, for it breaks my heart to spend even that limited time away from each other, but I do not wish for them to be orphaned when I must leave them to secure their future. Your Lady has already agreed to be their stepmother- all I ask of you is that you, to some capacity, will be their father.” She studied his face, the rigid lines of his form, the cold glint in his eyes. The creature before her was nigh-impossible to imagine as a father; even sitting here, where she could feel his breaths ghosting over her claws, where she could see him move and breathe like any other living being, he still felt more like a concept to her than a person. Like lifeless ash and snow and cold logic compressed itself down into an approximation of a bug, a parent in the way that the earth and the stone below was a parent to her people. “My conditions may change later, but in this I remain unwavering. Promise me this, at least- do not let our children be neglected, in whatever might come to pass.”</p><p>“You make a mistake, Herrah the Beast. You would not want me to raise your children.” He whispered it quietly, in a voice that did not echo, and then waved a hand in a single sharp, dismissive movement. The submissive, fidgeting king from before was gone; he was distant and cold again, and he moved like an automatron, still as a stone until something new necessitated his attention. “Nevertheless, I will swear this- they will not be neglected. It is not in my intentions to harm them.”</p><p>Was he lying? Did he plan on waiting in this cold, quiet castle until they died of old age, so that he might take Deepnest from her? Hot anger rose in her, clouding her vision, but she did not let it leak into her words as she nodded her assent and said, quite coldly, “I will take that for now. As for the breeding, allow me three weeks to trigger my heat, then come to Deepnest for the mating. There are herbs to increase fertility, and medications and healers with extensive knowledge on my kind’s anatomy to assist our endeavors. It would be best for you to come to me, unless you have any objection I must hear about.”</p><p>He slowly shook his head, looking more like a puppet on strings than a bug moving under his own volition. And a rather stupid one, at that; Herrah was reminded, quite suddenly, of just how intolerable he had been back in Deepnest, before his wife had tempered him. “No, I hold no issue with that. Do you have any more requests?” </p><p>He would do well to sound less like a selfish asshole. She bared her fangs at him from behind her mask, and barely kept herself from snarling at him when she said, “No, no more.”</p><p>“Then this meeting is adjourned.” As if a spell had triggered in him, his attention diverted from her entirely, and he bent his head over his work, pulling a new mechanism of twisted metal from his pockets to tinker with. “I shall meet you in Deepnest in three weeks.”</p><p>“In three weeks, then,” she affirmed, and turned and strode out of the workshop before she could say something idiotic, silently fuming at his attitude. Not even a proper good-bye drifted after her; it was like she had ceased to exist after his business with her had ended, and that only added fuel to her fire as she walked quickly through the twisting corridors of the White Palace, retainers and servants alike diving out of her way with terrified expressions as she stormed past. No guiding wingmould puttered before her now; it was as if the castle itself warped and bent to her wills, guiding her out under its own volition, and that, in a way, made her even more furious; if the Pale Bitch had not <em> wanted </em> her to come to his back office, then there had been no need to leave the gardens, and his wife’s calming touch and down-to-earth quips would have done a wonder in making the entire conversation feel less like pulling teeth from an unamused garpede.</p><p>She nearly passed by the Pure Vessel’s post on her way out, her temper clouding her thoughts, but the slight movement of its (admittedly massive) head drew her attention, slowing her stride. Among the pillars and vines of the corridors it stood, looking more like a statue than even the inactive kingsmoulds, but its gaze tracked her as she came closer, only the gentle rise and fall of its breastplate indicating it had any life in it at all. </p><p>She stopped, and stood before it, staring into its dark eyes, so empty and void of light. Before, she had speculated of its creation, thinking of it as a living construct rather than a child born of the King and White Lady, but now that she saw them both in detail, she was beginning to have her doubts. For though the King had claimed that there were many different ways to create life, and the Lady had implied that even unliving beings could have life breathed into them...that was the King’s mask gleaming bright in the pale light of the Palace, complete with the same subtle, intricate designs that marked his face. That was the Lady’s face looking back at her, and the Lady’s height granted to their long, lanky form. Even in the grip of their nail, she saw the calm way that their mother had held her teacup, and in their rigid, unmoving posture was their father’s pose when conducting a serious business matter, that same quiet resolve. She stared at them, at the strange spinning darkness that made their eyes and their blood, and she thought of the pained look that had flashed across the Lady's face when she claimed that Hallownest would have no heir, the way that the King had reacted when she asked for him to be a father. That coldness, that harsh rejection. The warning he had given her, instead of the disgust she had expected.</p><p>(There were tales spoken, of the desperation of kings and the worlds they upheaved to claim their goals. A child sacrifice was not the greatest sin she had heard of, but thinking of it here, chasing after the potential of a child that fate had stolen from her, nearly wrenched an ugly laugh from her throat.)</p><p>It was a revelation that she did not wish to make. Again, her eyes were drawn to the sheer black of their carapace, so dark that no light reflected from it. Again, she saw the links on their pauldrons, made to chain and suspend them, and again she sought for any hint of awareness in their eyes, any small indicator that they were not empty. Any hint that the child of the King and Queen was still in there, not swallowed by the darkness but <em> alive </em>, not the lost, forgotten dream that their parents thought they were.</p><p>(A fully empty being would not have opened its mouth at her when she stabbed it, as if it wished to scream out in pain at the agony she had wrought upon it.)</p><p>"Sorry about stabbing you in the leg," she announced briskly, as if it was not empty at all, as if it could hear her and understand. She was not sure if it could, or if she was damning the plan to fail by speaking to it in such a manner, but there was a certain ease in the way that they held their nail that made her think that they were a capable enough warrior to take on the Old Light, and she did not wish to stand in the way of their life's goal. Even if they would be granted no medals for it, she did not wish to deprive them of such an honour- this was not her fight to take. "And about your father. He's a dick."</p><p>She was not sure if she found the awareness she was looking for, or if her tired eyes were playing tricks on her, but she thought she saw a flicker of surprise in their eyes, a shift in their void as they processed her words. Either way, it was enough of an indicator for her, and with a brisk nod to the Vessel and a glare at the retainers gawking around her, she turned on her heel, and continued on the path home back to Deepnest.<br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was supposed to have fuckin in it but PK refused to cooperate with anything I was doing. Consent is sexy but sir cocks-a-lot was having none of it, F. Next chapter will have it for sure tho bc there's only so much talking that can happen before the consensual political hatefucking starts to become pressingly urgent. It's the plot of the story, PK. PK please shut up and work with me. PK please disclose your kinks like a normal person. Work with me u bitch</p><p>Also shout out to my discord friends for helping me google all those slang words for dick and come up with which ones Herrah would use, those are actual old-time words for ye olde peen and they cause me great pain everytime I look at them</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. An Admirable First Attempt</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ITS FINALLY HEEEREEEEE MOTHERS AND FUCKERS!!! THE MOMENT YOU HAVE ALLLL BEEN WAITING FOR</p><p>THE  S P I D E R  CO O CH I E</p><p>nearly 15k this time, goddamn. In my defense I haven't written actual porn for like...2 years. So I spent most of my time typing this at 2-3 am muttering 'holy fuck how do i position these motherfuckers' under my breath, so it took a while. May edit it a bit later but eehhh</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Three weeks passed in an instant. Dealing with the Weavers, announcing the Dreamer plan, and going through the necessary rites to induce her cycle took up most of her days, leaving her little time to contemplate what was to come ahead. There were elders to argue with (namely, Stitch, who understood the necessity of her sacrifice, but remained wary of the King’s intentions), distraught spiders to console, battle-rituals to attend, and herbs to chew, until she swore that their bitter tinge would never leave her fangs. She took them willingly, used to the numbness they left in her mouth, but the old, weary resignation she felt as she made the familiar trek down to the Midwife’s den was an unwelcome one. </p><p>There were no little children about when she stepped into her den; the clutches hatched from last season have long since graduated to the higher webs, and there are less stragglers now, with spiders hesitant to breed in the presence of the infection. No apprentices, either, with so many of the adolescent centipedes focused on finding suitable food instead of tending to the young- the bustle of the hatchery, once so lively and messy in the best of ways, was now as empty and still as a graveyard.</p><p>Herrah tried not to let it bother her.</p><p>Midwife certainly showed no sign of being upset at all the empty nests. When she slithered from her tunnels and tilted her head, opening her grinning mask, she took the carver hatcher Herrah offered as payment with nary a complaint. Nor did she take any issue with Herrah sitting by said nests as she waited, a heavy sense of doom weighing over her. She wasn't so naive to think that her wearieness passed by Midwife's keen gaze, but she allowed her the privacy to collect her thoughts as Herrah allowed her time to enjoy her meal, something that the beleaguered queen greatly appreciated after the tumult of the past few weeks.</p><p>When she was finished, Midwife stowed the empty carapace off to the side and took a moment to clean her face of the lingering gore, keeping her head respectfully tilted away from her queen. When she was finished, she snapped her mask back into place, slithered more of her length out of her tunnel so that her long body was looped around the nest Herrah sat by, and then hummed in a quiet, low voice, "He comes tonight."</p><p>"Hopefully," Herrah replied dryly, "or that rather defeats the purpose of this whole meeting, doesn't it."</p><p>The nest shook with the vibrations of Midwife's soft laughter, before she tapped Herrah's abdomen, tilted her head, and gave her a knowing look. She did not bother with formalities; they were too familiar with each other, and with Herrah’s plight, to waste any words between them. "Ah, but are you ready for him tonight? A god is a powerful mate to take- you best be ready to receive whatever he may be willing to give."</p><p>"More than ready." And she was. The herbs had worked well on her, and her heat was simmering just below her skin. Already, she had needed to blunt a few of her claws, so that she could siphon off some of the itching emptiness crawling within her, that infamous impatience that awoke the hungry beast dwelling under her carapace. She had no idea how he would react to her advances, if he was simply there to do his duty as a stud and leave, but she would at least find some small relief in tumbling him, and that was enough to get over the primal urge to crack his stupid face open whenever he tried to skirt a question. "His wife gave me a few tricks on how to handle him, I think I can take whatever he may throw at me. For one, I have it in good faith that he enjoys being dominated, which should hopefully make these next few nights a lot easier."</p><p>This time, Midwife's laugh was enough to truly shake the nest, and did not ebb for quite some time. "Then I have faith in you, my queen, and no longer feel the need to advise you against letting him go after only one round. He'll not slip from your web with that attitude, and the dance to procure a hybrid is a lengthy one indeed." </p><p>“As I know all too well,” grumbled Herrah, and she kneaded irritably at a phantom pain in her abdomen before she caught herself and stopped the motion. For a moment, a yawning emptiness ached in her chest, the old pain of losing her family making itself known again. The cold king in his pristine marble castle felt like a poor heat-mate substitute for her husband, and she took a moment to whisper his name under his breath, hoping that he would not be upset at her for what she had to do, wherever his ghost may rest. </p><p>Midwife, thankfully, made no mention of her slip-up. Twisting around herself, she rummaged for a moment in a nook in the wall before procuring a soft, woven bag heavy with sweet-smelling herbs and sticks of incense, placing it in Herrah's outstretched claws. "Here you are, my dear. Have it ready before he arrives, and pray for a steady mind before he crosses your threshold. I've not yet met any Higher Beings in the flesh, but all the old tales say that wyrms are a tricky lot. Think not that he'll spare you just because you will take his seed and bear his child. Those precious things mean little to creatures so ancient- or, so the legends would lead you to believe."</p><p>"Thank you, Midwife, I will remember that." Herrah transferred the bag of herbs to an offhand with the ease of old practice, and offered her a short bow, as was customary when presented with such a gift. Midwife dipped her entire front body in reply, twisting so that Herrah could clearly see the gleaming edge of her grinning mandibles, harmless after so long in each other’s company. "May your fangs stay sharp and your wits keen."</p><p>"And may your children grow strong, and never go hungry." There was an almost forlorn edge to Midwife's soft croon. "I mean it, Herrah. Let this be the end of it all. For your fruitless chase towards being a mother, and for this whole infection business as well."</p><p>"I will give my all, Midwife, as I always have." She thumped her chest with one curled fist, and did not let the bitterness seep into her voice as she echoed, "Let this be the end of it."</p><p>Midwife bowed again, and began to whisper the customary prayer to her old mentors for luck; Herrah purposefully tuned out her voice, so as to not curse herself with her eavesdropping, and retreated out into the tunnels by the lake.</p><p>Her spiders called out greetings as she ascended to her den, as well as shouts for good luck; though the Pale King had wished for privacy, Herrah’s plight was well-known to her kin, and she had wasted no time in telling them that her heir would be the blood of a god, and that she hoped to bring their village great fortune through the trade deals with Hallownest. The Devout, she knew, were delighted; she wasn’t as sure about the Weavers, wary of beings that could rival their own magic, or the beasts of her caste, leery of outsiders, but the overall reception had been positive, the spiders and centipedes of Deepnest gloating over the strength and fortitude of her queen, as well as the promise of a demigod ruler to protect them from the plots of ever-hungry Hallownest. </p><p>She could only hope that her children would be accepted with the same enthusiasm when she was gone. It was one thing, to claim support when she was still there to intimidate them into submission; it was another thing to see a halfling child running about, and recognize the traits of a foreign king in their features. And that was not counting all the time that they would spend away from home, either; as much as it pained her to admit it, she needed the Pale King’s guidance in rearing them, and his presence in their lives. She doubted that he would willingly comply, given his episode from their last meeting, but she knew nothing about how to raise wyrms, and his snarled warnings haunted her waking nightmares, ran their claws down her thoughts as she prepared for her coming death. </p><p>(What was she bringing into this world? Was she ready? Were the <em> kingdoms </em>ready?)</p><p>She mulled over it as she headed into her den, empty of her servants and Devout, as she had ordered. The Pale King, from what she had gathered from their previous meetings, was a rather repressed bastard, and she figured that he would not want the curious stares of the villagers on him as he made his way into her private quarters, even if they’d all know what he was there to do anyways. Little was lost in the gossip of Deepnest, but she figured she might as well offer him some facsimile of privacy, so that he would not drag this deal out more than he had to.  </p><p>Either way, it worked for her. After all the bustle of the past few weeks, the mishmash of dealing with infected prey, her preparations for her children, and the exhaustion of explaining her duty in the vaguest terms possible for public benefit, some calm before the coming headache was a relief. Going through the motions of brewing the special tea, lighting the incense, and carrying in a portable washbasin was automatic at this point, and allowed her mind some peace as she waited for the King to come.</p><p>And right on time, too- she'd hardly finished putting out the cups before she got a quiet knock on her window, an older Weaver gesturing to her door before dancing away in a flare of silk. The King had arrived, it seemed, and she took a moment to stare at the wall and breathe in deep, to calm her nerves and prepare for the dance that was to come next. </p><p>And then she straightened her shoulders and marched out of her den to meet her queer little mate-to-be, because she was Herrah the Beast, and she had not gained that moniker simply by sitting around and staring blankly at the walls when there was work to be done and kings to be apprehended.</p><p>Surprisingly, when she opened the door she found him alone; not accompanied by any kingsmoulds, or his Hollow Knight, despite their presumed lack of mind (and she was really quite grateful for that, for a multitude of reasons). He was perched on the edge of the platform, in a simple set of robes, watching the bustle of the village around him with the detached air of someone who knew that they were being watched, but would really rather prefer acting as if they didn't- at least until she cleared her throat and he snapped all that pinpoint focus onto her instead, her world shifting and settling until he was the centerpoint.</p><p>"You better learn to cut that dizzy crap out," she said briskly; no need for formalities, with their business deal looming ahead. And, well, if he wasn't going to announce her presence in his palace, she wasn't going to give him that in her kingdom. "I consider vertigo to be just as bad as your enthrallment trick, if not for different reasons."</p><p>"Greetings, Herrah," he hissed, cold as ice; he was rigid and unbending as he looked at her, his Kingslight harsh and painful. (She might have startled him, oops). He looked like a star, glowing in the dark of the village, and perhaps he realized that, for he dimmed it quickly, a tired sigh leaving him as it went down. "I am here. Let us get this over with."</p><p>"So you are. Come in, and leave your shitty attitude behind you, if you would- need I remind you that this is an act of pleasure as much as it is procreation?" She held the door open for him, gesturing to him; she could not <em> see </em> any spiders hiding in the webs about her home, but she was willing to bet that there were some hidden nearby sniggering like a lot of apprentices, and while she cared little for delicacies in conversation, she still had her pride. The village didn't need to know about <em> all </em> her struggles in producing an heir. "The apocalypse is coming, with my sacrifice one of the few things that can stave it off. We might as well enjoy the time we have left, even if we cannot tolerate each other's company."</p><p>The Pale King's eyes narrowed, but he did not deny her statement as he swept inside, ignoring the way she nearly closed the door on his tail. A faintly floral scent clung to him, reminiscent of the Lady’s gardens; this she did not comment on, but she couldn't help but wonder about its purpose. Was he trying to trick his mind into compliance with a familiar scent? She recalled him making some mention of wyrms being susceptible to pheromones, but so were many other races within Hallownest. "This is a business deal, nothing more. Pleasure is merely a byproduct of the actions required to secure Hallownest's future, and holds little personal significance to me.”</p><p>She snorted, fiddling with the lock to her door. She trusted her Devout to keep people out of the den, but there were always the few errant spiderlings who thought sneaking into the queen’s home made for a good dare, and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of their stagshit right now. “I sure hope that you don’t apply that logic to me, Pale King. I don't expect anything from you, not in the slightest, but it would be a waste for you to fall below my mortal partners in terms of satisfaction or fulfillment."</p><p>He makes an...<em> interesting </em>face at that, his tail flicking beneath his robe. She kept an eye on him, but he stayed silent, so after checking again to ensure the door was properly locked, she turned about in a way that required him to fall into step just behind her, as was right. Only then did he seem to find the courage to speak again; emboldened, perhaps, by the lack of direct confrontation. "You speak as if this is a game, not a serious matter."</p><p>"Should I not treat it as such, when you act so flippantly about it?" She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, safe behind her mask- or so she thought. He turned his head the second her gaze landed on him, and the world dipped and wavered a bit under the weight of his attention. "You walk into my home like you’re braced for a battle, and yet you have no guards about you. You are acting far more casually about this than I am, Wyrm, despite your prickly appearances."</p><p>He studies her with something she's pretty sure is disgust. On such a tiny creature, it only looks comical. "I don't need a guard when I breed you."</p><p>"Oh, is that so?" Amused, she stops, slides a claw under his chin, and tips his head up, baring his throat to her. She feels his many mouthparts work under her claws, as if he were debating whether or not to bite her, but she keeps him pinned in place- there were only the two of them here, and she knows that he knows pulling away to hide his throat would be admitting defeat. Admitting that he still saw her as an enemy, when she has led him to her bed and her nest under the pretense of peace. "You do not fear the Beast then, little wyrm?"</p><p>"Herrah." Her name would have come out a hiss, had she not had a claw hooked around one mandible already. His mouth was cold and wet, and lined with teeth, sharp and deadly despite their small size; she could feel the way they caught at her carapace, threatening to cut through to the flesh underneath. Something soft touches her claw, then retracts; his throat works, as if he were trying to taste her, test her, as she was doing to him. The thought excites her more than it probably should. "Do not demean me so."</p><p>For as muffled as his voice is in the physical, it is no less clear in the mental. She makes good on her promise, and releases him, watches as his jaws work and he attempts to smooth himself back into shape. A worthless endeavor, given what he is here for, but she allows him this small comfort, at the very least. "Demean you? I am merely amused by the idea of you being so hesitant to bring a guard with you, given how cautious you are around me. Do you think I will betray you and bite your head off while you're chasing your climax? I am not one to go against my word, sire, and you would be a prickly pill to swallow nonetheless."</p><p>A flash in his eyes- he's taken her bait. "Would you trust me, if I promised the same to you? I cannot tell that you are in season. Your pheromones are alien to me, and indecipherable- for all I know, you are infertile, this mating will result in no offspring, and you have merely arranged this meeting to test me, or remove a potential threat to your territory. I warn you, Herrah, I do not die so easily, and I will not stand for treachery."</p><p>She grins at him, wide enough that her gleaming forefangs slip beyond the bounds of her mask, and does not bother to quell the ripple of heat that runs through her at the thought of his interest. Good, good- it means that this coupling will be easier to bear than she anticipated. Not that she could take him now, with them still lingering in the hallway, but her hunger had not yet reached its peak, and she was having quite a fun time teasing him as-is. "Oh, I assure you, Pale King, this is no test. But if you are really so worried about that pretty little head of yours, then come and join me for tea. It will do the both of us good before we start."</p><p>Briefly, that strange, flickering lens flashes over his eyes- she's startled him. The wild, curious part of her wants to push him further, see if he breaks; the animal in her wanted to nip at him and see him dance, to test if the little wyrm was a worthy partner to take to bed, or if she should spare herself the trouble and devour him instead. "Tea? I am not here for tea."</p><p>"Would you defy our traditions in our own home? This is for safety and luck in the breeding, as well as your survival." She catches the way his attention sharpens on her, his curiosity piqued despite his bristling mistrust, and turns to finally beckon him into her bedroom proper. "Come. I have already prepared us a pot, as well as lit the incense. Maybe it will help you relax- we cannot seal our bargain if you're too tense to get erect, you know."</p><p>"I will have no mechanical issues with our deal," he mutters, but he accepts her offer anyways, passing by her with a gracious nod. She responds with a half-sarcastic little bow of her own, then makes sure to lock the door securely behind her, slipping a warning sheet of silk beneath the door for good measure. Weft already knew that she was going to be preoccupied for the next few days, and that she was to keep the silence until she emerged, but it would do no harm to be cautious, even with the locked door. She knew some of her Devout did not handle the message-slips well, their claws too clumsy to handle the silk paper without tearing it, and a door was merely a suggestion to one panicked or concerned enough to forget about things like locks or hinges. Or privacy.</p><p>The thought amuses her, a faint smile tugging at her pedipalps as she imagined them bursting in and terrifying the King, but when she turns around to look at where her errant mate-to-be has gone, she finds him not perched by the table, as she anticipated, but standing stock-still in the center of her room, staring at the cradle in the corner. </p><p>No. Staring past the cradle to the small shrine beyond, to the dusty toys and unfinished silk cutouts laid carefully below it, that unnerving black stare picking apart the space where a child should be. Where a child should still be living, laughing, and playing, where they may have been resting now for a story before their bedtime, had the world been a little softer, a little kinder. </p><p>She forces herself to stay quiet, to say nothing, when she knows if she'd speak it would come out as a snarl. The wounds of her past had scarred over with time, but prodding at them still hurt. She did not want him to know just how badly their losses still stung, when he was still a stranger to her, an enemy that had not yet proven his alliance.</p><p>The Pale King's eyes slide to her, his head tipping only slightly in her direction, and then he looks back to the altar one more time before he turns his back to it and, blessedly, remains quiet. For all the times before where he'd try to pick her apart with his pinpoint, precise comments, or get under her skin with his nettling jabs, he stays silent now as he crosses the room and joins her at her table, pointedly ignoring the mourning-shrine in the corner.</p><p>"Explain the purpose of this tea to me, if you would." She cannot tell if he sounds any more subdued than normal, or if his softer tone is born out of reluctance for the deed ahead. Either way, it serves as a peace offering, and a welcome distraction from tiresome memories. She did not often have to play teacher for rivals, but it kept her mind off of her grief, and that was more than enough for her.</p><p>"It's used by our clan to calm the hunting spirit of the mother-to-be, as well as ensure her fertility for the mating. When consumed by the sire, it is supposed to lend him great virality and strength of heart, to better protect himself against the trials to come." She checks the pot- still hot, just how she likes it. The smoke from the incense curled through the air, heavy and sweet; it calms her, this ritual, this familiar expression of spirituality. She has no idea if it affects him, rival god-king from a foreign land as he was, but she could not bring herself to care. He was the intruder in her den; she'd not feel ashamed of her culture, no matter what he may say. "We have long suppressed our instinct to eat our mates through ritual and meditation; it helps to calm the animal parts of our hearts. You told me that mating in wyrms is violent, but you seem to constantly forget that I am no better than you in that regard, and must take the necessary precautions.”</p><p>He nods, slowly, and then cranes his head in to scent the steam, watching closely as she pours him a cup and pushes it over to him. If he fears her poisoning him, he does not say anything of it, though she thought she caught him giving it a few more cautious sniffs before taking a sip. “And you believe this will control you.”</p><p>She couldn’t decipher any particular emotion from him this time, so she simply shrugged and poured a cup for herself, swirling its contents as she spoke. “It’s not a drug, if you’re worried about that aspect. But it is believed that the herbs have a spiritual connection, and you of all bugs should know the power that that holds. If anything, it calms the nerves of new mates, and sometimes, that is enough.”</p><p>“I am hardly a flighty virgin, Herrah, I do not need to be <em> calmed, </em>” he grumbled, but there was no heat to it; he seemed more interested in absorbing the information given to him, and focusing on following the ritual she had set up for him. She watched him over the edge of her cup as she drank, intrigued by his behavior and body language, but he did not look at her, his eyes roaming over the tapestries hung about her bedroom. “You wove these?”</p><p>“Indeed. I may have come from a lower caste, but all spiders love to weave. Proficiency is encouraged, no matter your ranking.” She did not mention the fact that it was not her artistic skill that had allowed her to rise in the ranks- she did not think she needed to, with the marks of her determination carved into her body. Her scars told a story all on their own.</p><p>“It's skilled work,” he murmured, still not looking at her. He took another sip, dragging the whole ordeal out; she had already finished her cup, for the ceremonial dishes were rather small, but then again, there was some sort of distant focus in his eyes that indicated curiosity, rather than nerves. He didn’t appear to be trying to buy himself time. “When did you start to learn such a craft?”</p><p>His question surprised her; it did not sound like it was an inquiry for politeness's sake (not that she expected such a thing from him), but that it stemmed from a genuine interest. Perhaps she was a little too harsh with him before- even if he was a rather unpleasant individual, and came from a rival nation, he at least held some sort of respect for the culture of Deepnest. Or, she <em> hoped </em> that he did. For the sake of her children, at the very least; she did not know how long that she would have with them, and she did not want their father to turn them away from the culture of their birth. "As soon as I started to produce silk. It's prudent to teach the hatchlings how to handle their silk from a very young age, for it is a dangerous trap when unmagicked and a potential disaster when imbued with Soul." </p><p>She pushed her teacup to the side with her claws, catching his attention for one moment, but it soon flickered away again, caught by another pattern woven to the walls, and so she continued to speak, viewing his silence as an invitation. "I have had my entire life to learn to weave. I suspect it would be the same for our hatchlings, no matter where they are raised, unless they do not inherit my ability to spin.”</p><p>His attention snapped back to her at the word ‘children’, glow briefly lighting up before dimming back down to something more respectful. He drained the rest of his tea, one claw tapping lightly on the carved chitin cup before setting it down and arranging it so that its handle lined up perfectly with the angle of his body. “And what would happen to them then? To a spider who cannot spin?”</p><p>“What, do you think that the village would not know of their parentage? Everyone anticipates a hybrid heir, Pale Wyrm. Accommodations would be made for them, and they are hardly the only residents of Deepnest who do not weave. It would be unusual, yes, but we will find a way.” She watched him consider her answer, his claws tip-tapping on the table, before taking a deep breath and removing her mask. “As we will find a way with everything in between.”</p><p>His fidgeting stilled, dark eyes flickering over her face. Without the spells in her mask serving as a buffer for magical influence, his gaze felt almost painful, the weight of his regard prickling just under her carapace. She could not yet tell if it was in appreciation or apprehension, but she caught the way his eyes lingered on her fangs, the angle of his head betraying him. "Is that so."</p><p>"Did you forget what you came here for, Pale King?" Her voice, no longer muffled by her mask, rang out loud and clear- almost too loud, if his subtle flinch was any indicator. She took on a softer tone when she spoke again, careful to keep her voice neutral as she said, "Unless you wish to take an alternate route. We have already gone over the risks, but I would accept as long as the risk is negated."</p><p>"No. There is no alternative I wish to take." He shifted his weight, wings flickering as his claws scratched lightly against the table. His eyes remained fixated on her fangs, his shoulders set in a hard line, but his voice was steely and determined when he said, "I shall breed you, Beast, as you have first requested. This dalliance was wrought with the intent to save many lives in the spawning of another, and I will do my duty to ensure in Hallownest's perpetuation, as you must with Deepnest. I shall not back out."</p><p>A cold knot of worry melted in Herrah’s thorax, leaving only the warmth of her arousal behind. Despite all the talking and teasing beforehand, she had not been entirely sure if he was okay with proceeding, and she had no desire to take an unwilling mate to bed. </p><p>But now his eyes were on her, and that flicker in their endless depths spoke of intrigue, not fear. The tension in his small frame seemed to be born of anticipation, not of a creature preparing to bolt; the King of Hallownest, despite his prickly, cold nature, was still an animal at heart. Earthly desires seemed to affect him just as they did any other being; hunger, fear, the desire for comfort, the desire to <em> breed </em>. No gilded halls or holiness could take that away from him.</p><p>"Big words for a little man," she purred, leaning in close- he did not hiss at her, as she thought he would, but made an odd rumbling noise in return, and tilted himself to match the way her head was angled, as if he was preparing to fight her. As if he was preparing to lunge, his pristine, controlled image fraying at the edges as instinct won out over reason. </p><p>How <em> thrilling. </em> She had not expected such a reaction from him, with such little provocation, and she rose to stalk closer to him, watching the way the plates at the back of his neck bristled at her approach, wings flickering from their right pin against his back. Was that a threat display, or a mating presentation? Would he dance for her, or would he fight her with every step of the way, until he proved himself impressive enough to slip inside her? "This is your last chance to run, little wyrm."</p><p>"Do you take me for a coward?" He growled- rumbled, really, it was too low to be a true growl. His usually-whispering voice had taken on a harsher, deeper tone, and it thrummed through her head and stoked the fire simmering low in her abdomen. "I will not run."</p><p>"So be it." She undid the clasp for her veil with one hand, shaking her horns free as she pulled it off with another. Nudity meant nothing in either of their lands, but she felt the absence of it nonetheless, as his cool gaze raked over her body, leaving sparks in its wake. "I expect you to entertain me then, Pale King. You claimed to have some experience; I would like to see it proven through actions instead of empty words."</p><p>"Is that a challenge?" Rather than sounding insulted, a dangerous edge slipped into his voice, wings half-spreading. There was an energy about him that she wasn't used to seeing; gone was the nervous fidgeting and the stone-still staring, replaced by a subtle, almost liquid shifting movement, noticeable in the slow movement of his head and the flicking of his tail. He didn’t seem to be aware of it, but the fact that she could tease such reactions from a creature reputed to be so distant and emotionless excited her. She was starting to see why the Lady decided to take him as a mate; if not for love, then for the curious pleasure of slowly breaking down his walls, watching as he crumbled under the weight of his own carnal desires.</p><p>“If you wish for it, then let it be so.” She crossed her lower set of arms, and smirked down at him, flashing her fangs. His breath stopped, translucent inner eyelid flickering briefly, before he lifted his head and gave her a cool, dignified stare that she knew now to be all empty posturing. Oh, how much she wished to see it <em> shatter- </em>she would savor that memory for the rest of her days. “But first, strip.”</p><p>For some reason, it is that which throws him for a loop. He blinked again, his competitive aggression dissipating, and said, almost automatically, "Excuse me?"</p><p>"Well, what did you expect the next logical step to be?" She gestures at him, and at the robes covering everything but his extremities. If she wasn't distracted by the aching emptiness throbbing low in her belly, she'd probably laugh at him. Perhaps that was a good thing; a strange hesitation had overcome him, one of his hands fiddling with the edge of his robe, and the last thing that she wished to do was to actually upset him. "I can't fuck you when you're covered up like this. Strip." </p><p>He makes a face at her, then disrobes slowly, carefully. Not with the intent to lure her in, or put on a display, but with his eyes locked to hers, wariness shimmering in their depths, as if removing himself from their soft embrace was to remove some facimale of armour held between him and the world.</p><p>And perhaps it was, for underneath the robes was a body that she had never seen on any living creature before- not at all a bug, but rather like a slapdash <em> idea </em> of a bug made flesh, crafted in the mind of a creature that had only seen them in scattered images. Long and slender he was, with a strong, curving tail that made up the most of his frame; four surprisingly delicate arms folded self-consciously over his chest, where the King's Brand shone as white as pain beside a gently-glowing whorl of carapace, elegant sigils crossing over what appeared to be a charm half embedded into his flesh, right over his heart. His several legs were surprisingly slender, holding him propped at the standing height most bugs prefered, rather than the half-beastial form she'd assume from a being such as him. </p><p>He looked oddly graceful for a creature so distinctly <em> alien </em> from all she had ever known, and the low simmer of heat in her abdomen pulsed at the thought of learning what <em> other </em> secrets he hid, tucked away behind the faint slit she spotted between his first pair of legs. His odd anatomy did not deter her in the slightest; rather, it excited her, to dally in the unknown and experience what so few others had. Certainly no mortals she knew of had bred a god, let alone a wyrm. She was interested in seeing what he had to offer, even if her expectations about his performance were somewhat low. </p><p>"Are you just going to stand there and stare at me, or are you going to do something?" The irate impatience in the King's voice fell flat as she came closer, his bravado from before dissipating, wingtips trembling. Was it fear his body was betraying, or arousal? She certainly didn't miss the way that he leaned back on his tail, or the way that the tip of his tongue flicked out past his mandibles, subtly tasting the air as she approached. This close, she could smell a faint edge to a scent that had nearly been nonexistent when last she visited, under the flowery perfume; a scent like cold metal and something deeper, richer, heavy with pheromones that meant nothing to her. "We mustn't dally, Queen Herrah." </p><p>"No, I shall not dally." He was too small. Far too small for her to do anything worthwhile with her standing over him, and, after giving him a calculating once-over (not missing the way his slit was parted, or the glimmer of something wet within), she reached down, and grabbed him by the torso, hefting him in the air. </p><p>She ignored him as he let out a short, strangled shout, and ignored him again when he fanned his wings, casting them both in a halo of blinding light- she was focused entirely on the press of his body against hers, the hard edges of his segmented carapace rubbing against her oversensitive plating. He had wrapped his tail around her when she lifted him, and by the stars, he was <em> cold, </em>his thick back plates cool to the touch while his underside radiated a strange, chilly aura. The claws at the tips of his legs dug into her side, sharp points of contact bordering just on the edge of pain. "I was merely admiring the view."</p><p>She also ignored how his glow brightened for a moment, or the way a snarl cut off in his throat, as if he thought her comment on his form an insult. Instead, she turned and pinned him neatly against the wall, delighting in the way he scrabbled frantically against her before going still, trying to retain what frail scraps of his composure he had left. The quick edge to his breathing still seemed more from discomfort than from arousal, but when she slipped a spare hand down to rub at the slit between his legs, she found it more parted than it had been before, the slick, cool ridges of his carapace rubbing against her hand as she slid a hand down and ground her palm against his sheath, as the White Lady had instructed her to do.</p><p>And, just like she said he would, he snapped at her, and snarled, tense under her grip. Two of his free hands scratched at her side, scraping without posing any real threat; they left a pleasant, throbbing sting behind, but she did not trust him, and used one of her free hands to pin his wrists together near his head, baring his chest to her; she had to squint against the light of the King’s Brand for a moment, its glow dizzying, but what enthralling purposes it had did not take hold of her. He had kept his word- in that aspect, at least. </p><p>Interestingly, despite their strengths being near-equal, he made no move to pull himself free of her grasp, almost relaxing into her hold. "What do you think you are doing? We cannot get anything done like this."</p><p>"Foreplay, Pale King, have you ever heard of it?"  She snarks at him, amused by his reluctance- with the way his wife had agreed to allow his useage to her, citing it to be part of his nature, she had thought him more willing to get his job done and leave than linger. Yet when she slides a blunted claw up under his plating, he barely reacts. Disappointing, but he didn’t seem overly distressed. She wouldn't give up yet. "Clearly we need it here- are you holding back? Or are you too scared to try to fuck me? I thought you said this task would be easy for you."</p><p>His breath hitches, and she stops to focus more on the spot she was rubbing before- just above his sheath, where the shimmering white skin between his scales and its opening poked out the most. He was holding back, but instinct and arousal were willing out against his reasoning; she could feel it, in the way he grew wetter and wetter under her claws as she teased him, the slow parting of his slit. "Do not think too highly of yourself for seeing me like this. There are, mmm...certain variables at play here."</p><p>"Are there now?” Amused, she tried to slip her fingers a little deeper to stroke his member while it was still sheathed, but then he clenched around her and dug a leg into her side with a rasping hiss, so she stopped. Some of her tricks didn’t work with him, then- that was fine. She was having fun anyways, chasing down all of his little cues, and she slid a hand down to tease herself alongside him, sighing softly as her fingers slid past her wet folds to stroke lightly at her clit. “You're hardly showing yourself to me, after all. Could it be that you are shy?" </p><p>A muffled, groaning click in his throat, cut off before it could reach completion. She nipped playfully at his neck, the heat-haze of her interest begging her to bite, and a strange light flared in his eyes, his jaw dropping open to reveal the split rows of sharp mandibles hidden in the smooth chitin under his mask as he tried to...fend her off?</p><p>He's grown even wetter under her hand. Interesting.</p><p>"Do you think you can lock jaws with me like a wyrm?" She leans back a bit, adjusting her grip so that he wouldn't slide down the wall. Hot pulses of interest coursed through her as she looked at him; the King of Hallownest appeared utterly debauched, his claws digging into the wall to hold him steady, his tail twitching wildly as he snaps his jaws shut and glares at her. His many legs reached back, to try to help balance him, but all that it did was bare him to her, to highlight her claws holding him open, the glistening moisture on his carapace.</p><p>She thought briefly about trying to go down on him, to see if she could tease him enough to ease his dick out of its sheath by tongue alone, but decided against it in the end. He was too nervous right now, and she could feel the muscles rippling under his shell, the way they fought to not press against her. That tail meant business, no matter how delicate and refined its owner tried to be. “Or are you trying to preserve some semblance of dignity? Nothing about this is dignified, Wyrm, and you’re hardly going to keep it if you remain as clenched as a baldur trying to escape a hunter.”</p><p>"I can hardly be blamed-" She moves in as he twitches back, to trap that twitching tail between her legs so that she might grind against it, and his words cut off with a growl as she changed her rubbing to a slow, circular motion to match her movements. "-for my instincts…"</p><p>"No, you cannot," she sighs, settling into a steady rhythm- she cannot get off like this, awkward as the angle was, but his cold, smooth scales felt wonderful against her clit. "And I do not blame you for it. Let go." </p><p>He groans again-more like a sigh, really- and <em> something </em> slips free from his slit, <em> two </em> somethings, glowing as bright as his wings. They were relatively long for his height, slender at the tips and tapering down to a thicker base, and when she curiously tried to wrap a hand around the thicker one to feel the soft ridges running down its underside, his tail lashed up and around her waist as if he were trying to wrap himself around her, before uncoiling and pressing back where she had him originally with a quiet huff of concentration.</p><p>"Feels good, huh?" She rocked back against him, stifling a moan as she clenched around nothing. Watching him unsheathe had only sharpened the blade of her hunger, and now that itching impatience was back beneath her skin, prickling heat sweeping up her back. He was cold and wet under her hand, and she wanted to feel that inside of her, to feel that cool slick pressure filling her up.</p><p>He made a quiet thrumming noise, eyelids half-flickering as his mandibles worked furiously, like he was actively trying not to bite her. She leaned away from him a little, just in case he made an attempt, but all that did was press her harder into his tail and send another shiver of pleasure dancing over her skin.</p><p>She wanted to sink her fangs into his throat as he fucked her, to feel him writhe and buck as she fed from him, draining his life to nourish her young. To fill her throat with the blood of a god, to be strengthened by his essence as she grew heavy with his brood.</p><p>But that would be unproductive in the long run, so she quelled the urge by focusing on teasing him instead. She had, after all, <em>so </em>much material at hand to work with. In this case, quite literally.</p><p>"But really, Pale King? Two pricks?" She slid a hand down the first one again, and then back up again, satisfied with the relative give to the ridges and the slickness. She was willing to do anything to provide Deepnest with an heir, but she hadn't been pleased with the idea of dealing with anything spined. She knew other species within Hallownest considered it the height of sexual temptation, but the thought of dealing with it made her clench, and not in the good way. "Are you trying to compensate for something?"</p><p>"You wanted a successful insemination," the Pale King choked out. She pressed her thumb into the head of the dick she was holding, shifting her hold so that she could grab the base of the second with a free hand, and he made a strange creaking noise deep in his chest, something she bet was a cut-off moan. "This is-<em> ahhh... </em>this is the most effective way of doing it. I will not waste anything this way." </p><p>"Not if I get you to shoot it all over my belly first," she replied nonchalantly, and laughed as his eyes shot up to hers, a low growl building in his throat. "Relax, I have no intent for you to come anywhere other than inside of me. That would defeat the purpose, no?"</p><p>"Mmm." He reached out with his free hands, pressing his palms against her chest, two deliciously cool points of contact. She felt a low purr rumble up in her thorax, pleased by his touch, and he rumbled back in response, a low throbbing sound as she slowly stroked him. "Perhaps...perhaps we should take this to the nest."</p><p>"Indeed." She hefted him up in her first set of arms with little effort, cringing a little as his claws snapped free of the woven walls, leaving shallow holes behind. Ah well, she could always repair it later. Or keep them there, as a memento for the time she tumbled a god- not that she would have much time to gloat on it.</p><p>She tried not to let her mind linger on that thought. It was not all that conductive to wyrm-fucking. Not in the slightest.</p><p>The King himself seemed startled by her insistence on carrying him, letting out a strangled grunt of surprise as she turned to walk them to bed. But all he did was flip his tail up over his belly and cross his arms over his chest, protecting his vulnerable underside, so she assumed he wasn’t <em> too </em> bothered by it, an assumption that rang true when he quietly grumbled, "Herrah. I can walk."</p><p>"Not fast enough for me," she retorted, and eyed the nest; she had layered it with extra blankets, anticipating the need to strip it of soaked layers, but the extra cushion was...tempting. For reasons <em> entirely </em> different from what the King was here for. “Say, how agile are you in the air?”</p><p>He jolted in her arms, claws digging in as he stared at her. All that nervous energy from before came back with a vengeance, his mandibles wiggling nervously as he hissed, “Herrah, whatever you may be thinking, don’t-”</p><p>She didn’t let him finish. Instead, she swung him back a bit and launched him forward at the bed with a cheerful ‘ally-OOP’, laughing as his wings flared out in a panicked attempt to right himself before he landed on the bed with a soft <em> whoomp. </em> The light silk sheets floated up and around him, muffling his glow and indignant shout- by the time she reached the bed, still sniggering, he had completely disappeared, swallowed up by the soft blankets and pillows lined about the nest.</p><p>“Oi, where’d you go?” She prodded the area near where he’d landed, searching for a cold lump; he’d burrowed fast, perhaps on instinct, and his form was indistinct among the layers of pillows and other various soft objects. “I’ve no desire to crush you before our deal is done, Wyrm, or to be the person to tell your wife that I lost you. Come back up.”</p><p>With a soft rustle, the King reappeared from under a heavy quilt, a silken sheet beneath it slipping off of his horns. Though his face betrayed nothing, as always, there was a distinctly embarrassed aura about him as he slipped out of his impromptu tunnel and hunched down in the sheets, making himself appear smaller than he already was. Defense mechanism? She wasn't sure. Nor was she as interested in trying to figure it out, with that aching burn simmering low in her belly. “Don’t throw me next time, then.”</p><p>“Apologies,” She took one look at him, catching the way that his hips(?) were cautiously twisted away from the bed, and snickered as quietly as she could before taking a seat next to him, leaning back on her lower arms. The bed dipped under her, too soft to properly hold her weight, and nearly rolled him into her before he dug his claws in and steadied himself, still keeping his lower half slightly elevated, away from the sheets. “I didn’t turn you off, did I?”</p><p>His mandibles spread in something that roughly approximated a grimace, before he tucked his arms in closer to himself and twisted onto his back, baring his belly to her. Just the glimmering heads of his dicks were visible, poking out of his sheath, but as the weight of her regard settled on him, they slipped free again, twitching towards his stomach in an instinctive search for stimulation. He kept his focus fixed on her, not looking or touching, but the display was self-explanatory.</p><p>So he was still aroused, then. Gods, she still couldn't believe he had <em> two </em> . She had expected to feel nothing, given his small stature, but with <em> two </em>of them...the night might be still enjoyable yet.</p><p>She let out an approving hum at the thought, her gaze raking over him as she leaned closer, catching that cold-metal scent beneath the flowers. It was stronger now, thicker, and with an edge to it that reminded her of fresh blood; she almost wished that she could taste it on him. As her fangs flexed, his breath sped up, tail curling around closer to himself, before he let out a strained, quiet, “No.”</p><p><em> “Good, </em> ” she purred, stroking a hand down his side. He was tiny compared to her, and shivered at her touch; she was tempted to spread the folds of his sheath open again, to see what other treasures his below the base of his second member, but she refrained. That would just have to wait for later- she was hungry and aching and empty for him <em> now </em>. "Let's see how well you can fill me up."</p><p>He took another shuddering breath, then twisted his legs back under himself with a growl of determination and pushed back against her, nudging her towards the headboard. She let him guide her, easing her legs open, and watched hungrily as one of his hands slipped down to his two dicks, and then even lower, pushing in and rubbing circles under his folds to slick his fingers before he reached up and started stroking along her opening, parted slightly with her arousal. His slick was cold, and even more slippery than hers, but all it served to do was tease her, his fingers nowhere close to her clit or actual opening.</p><p>"Well?" She ground out, trying not to sound too impatient- he was the interloper here, after all, even if he was currently perched in her bed with his pricks out and his fingers teasing along her slit. She had no desire to give him anything to gloat with afterwards. "Get on with it. <em> Anything </em>will do."</p><p>"Let me tend to you first," he muttered, rubbing gently at her slit with his cold, wet fingers. He pressed his other hands against her side, petting her slowly, then reached down with his lower right hand to squeeze briefly at the bases of his dicks, breath hitching with the movement. "If this what you wish."</p><p>It was unnecessary; she was wet enough from a combination of her cycle and teasing him, and she knew by touch and experience that his two pricks were slick and tapered enough to slide into her with little pain. But she was hardly going to complain about a little bit of foreplay, if offered from the god-king of Hallownest. Especially not when he was giving her cunt a stare that bordered on the quizzical side, like he was expecting it to do something outlandish- a little bit of exploration might save them some mishaps later. "Of course. Show me what you know of pleasing women, Pale King. Prove my suspicions wrong."</p><p>His eyes flickered to hers, a faint snarl pulling at his features, before slipping his blunted claws under her plates, pressing against her slit proper. His dicks twitched again, flexing apart like they had a life of their own, and she idly wondered if they would do the same inside of her before his fingers brushed her clit, and she arched into his touch with a hiss that tapered into a pleased moan, his cold hands sending pulses of pleasure up through her body. "I think you will find that my knowledge is more thorough than you may believe."</p><p>"Is that so?" She tried not to grind up against his fingers, to give away how hungry she was for more stimulation, but goading him was just too much fun, watching the way that his wings slowly spread, feeling the way that his deep rumble built in his chest. But <em> gods, </em> she was empty, and he was right <em> there </em> , his cool fingers brushing lightly against her opening, the pad of his thumb rubbing just barely to the side of her clit. "Then <em> show </em>me, Wyrm. Make my time worthwhile."</p><p>He stared at her, deep black eyes in a blank white face, one of his free hands kneading lightly against her side before holding her still, two of his fingers sinking in deep. Without his cold temperature, she would have hardly noticed him- he was just so small, <em> too </em> small- but then he curled them hard against her walls and stroked a hand down her side, the pads of his fingers pressing hard against her sweet spot, and the pleased moan she made in response was entirely involuntary. It wasn’t enough- couldn’t be enough, without proper penetration, and he was small enough to be able to fit his entire hand in her if he tried, but she hadn’t been expecting it, and the thrill of the sensation was enough to make the fur on her neck stand on end.</p><p>His attention zeroed in on her, watching her reactions, before he carefully slipped a third finger in, slowly spreading them apart. <em> That </em> she felt, a slow, creeping burn that contrasted wonderfully with his cold fingers, and she sighed shakily, curling one of her legs around him without thinking about it. He flinched under her touch before relaxing into it, fingers curling again, and the low, throbbing ache she felt at peaked into a shiver as he subtly ground his members against her side, the cold wet pressure so close, and yet so far away from where she wanted him. </p><p><em> Gods </em> , she was still so <em> empty.  </em></p><p>She took a shaky breath, and used the leg around him as leverage to push him away, just enough for his fingers to slip out of her. He made a quiet noise of protest, his confusion echoing in her mind for a moment, before he pulled himself away entirely, rubbing his slick fingers together as he frowned down at her, waiting silently for her next cue. </p><p>“Alright,” she said, voice wavering a bit more than what she’d like- <em> fuck, </em>how tantalizing he looked now, her hesitance from before dissipated by the weight of her needs. Inducing her cycle was a good idea, for more reasons than just the fertility boost; she knew that she would never be this eager to mate him without the influence of her hormones, glowing pricks be damned. “That’s enough. Mount up.”</p><p>He took a sharp breath at that, wings half-fanning, before he hesitated, frown deepening. One hand reached down to his dicks before stopping, pressing his fingertips against his belly- the hand he used to finger her with was hanging awkwardly off to the side, hovering just above her entrance. “I have not finished preparing you.”</p><p>“I want to be able to feel you, Pale King. If you stretch me out too much then that will be impossible.” She stroked down his back, sliding her leg slowly over the ridged, hard plates- he gave her a sharp look, as if he didn’t quite know whether to consider her statement a compliment or an insult, but she saw the way that his eyes went half-lidded at her touch. She felt the low thrum of his call as it started up again, a throbbing vibration that buzzed against her side, made her clench tight around nothing. He wasn’t as unaffected as he was trying to appear. “Just fuck me already.”</p><p>She reached down, sliding her claws through her wet folds to hold herself open, and whatever quip he was planning to respond to her with died off, fading into a growl. She growled back, baring her fangs at him, and that seemed to dispel his hesitation, his own low rumble growing loud enough to shake the bed. </p><p>He spread his wings as he pressed against her, sinking his claws into her side as his back arched up and a hand closed around his members- and then he frowned, and lowered himself back down to the bed. His claws sunk deep into the mattress, the only tell of his frustration that he offered, before he said, in an unusually disgruntled tone of voice, “Herrah. I can’t reach.”</p><p>...Well, she certainly didn’t anticipate <em> that </em> . She shifted about so that she could see him better, and gave him a contemplative frown in return. She <em> supposed </em>that she was a little too high up for him, but she honestly didn’t think that he would have any trouble with that sort of thing- he seemed like the type to be able to climb up with little effort. “Really? Can’t you just hold onto me or something? Surely you can manage that, at least- rest assured, I will not kick you off if you attempt it.”</p><p>He gave her a cutting stare, and, using her legs as leverage, attempted to pull himself up enough to mount. It was no use- she felt the head of his lower member poke somewhere to the side of her opening, before he slowly slid off of her, legs scrambling uselessly against her side. It tickled a bit, just enough to make her scrunch her chelicerae and squirm, and he gave her an embarrassed look before tapping a clean hand against the point of his mask, eyes unfocusing as he thought. “Hmm. I did not think about these difficulties before we attempted this.”</p><p>“Neither did I,” she said, trying to keep her amusement out of her voice; it was a hilarious sight, the King leaning against her with his dicks in hand while he stared at her cunt with a faintly despondent air about him, and she could not quite contain her giggle this time as she said, “Do you often have this issue, with your lady wife? Do I need to get you a stool of sorts, to help you mount?” A memory of their first meeting flashed into her mind, and this time she could not help but laugh as she amended, “Apologies, your majesty, a <em> godly </em>stool, so that you can perform your duty in dignity and comfort. Let it not be said that the queen of Deepnest is devoid of hospitality!”</p><p>Her laughter shook his tiny frame, exacerbating the comedic effect. He gave her a look that was not <em> quite </em> a glare- it was too tired, too flat, too exasperated. His dicks retracted a bit, not <em> quite </em>resheathing, before he asked, in a complete monotone, "Are you done."</p><p>"Not even close," she gave him a wicked smile, before curling closer to him, reaching out with one hand to stroke along the wet seam just under his pricks. He flinched at her touch, but she felt him open up under her, one of her blunted claws brushing the shaft of his lower member as she slipped inside. "Aww, come back out, don't be shy. We'll find a way, it just needs a little bit of...clever positioning."</p><p>"Kindly stop talking to my hemipenis," he grumbled, but there was no real heat to it. In fact, the longer she stroked him, the more he relaxed, until both of his dicks slipped free of his sheath again, and he started to subtly rock against her hand. “A-as for positioning...hmm. Move fully onto your side, please. I may be able to...to reach you that way.” </p><p>His voice warbled in the physical world, coming dangerously close to a moan. She nearly rolled her eyes at him stifling it (really, he was fine with making weird humming noises at her but not voicing his pleasure? She had two of her fingers hooked under his folds, and she was pretty sure that soft, giving flesh under his lower dick was an entrance all on its own- it was too slick and deep to be a part of his sheath), but did as he asked, slipping her fingers out of his slit so that she could focus on propping herself up and spreading her legs as far apart as she could. As awkward as the position was, it bared herself to him better, and the anticipation of what was to come sent heat throbbing through her abdomen, rekindling the fire from before. “Like this?”</p><p>“Yes.” He shook his wings out, shedding glowing motes of soul everywhere, and raised himself up to his full height, standing tall on his many legs. It didn’t give him much of a boost, but it allowed him enough height for him to rub against her- at her opening this time, not some spot off to the side. The soft, cool ridges of his lower member slid over her entrance, and he made a noise that almost sounded pained, a low, throbbing trill that he cut off before it could reach completion; a shame, really, for his voice throbbed through her, that echoing edge to it just barely on the edge of being too much. His claws sunk into her sides, several sharp sparks of adding to the pleasure, before he took himself in hand again and started to stroke along her slot, waiting for her cue. “Ready?”</p><p>She let out a pleased hum, and hooked a leg around him again before reaching down to hold herself open for him, sighing softly as her fingers brushed her clit. She was so wet that it was almost difficult, her slick mixing with his, and her body throbbed hot, hot, <em> hot </em> with the near-painful pulse of her heat. She was usually adept at controlling her hormones, seeing it as nothing but an irritable itch beneath her skin, but this...<em>this </em>was something different, exasperbated by her goals and his hovering prescence, so close to her, and yet so far from where she needed him. “Come on, Wyrm, I was ready <em> yesterday </em>. Fuck me before I lose my patience, and you lose your head.”  </p><p>She was only teasing, but it worked; the Pale King took a deep, shaky breath, wings flicking at her words, and braced himself, slowly pushing the first head in. She almost didn’t feel it at first, registering as nothing more than a cold, wet thing pressing against her, but after the tapered head breached her opening and slid partially in, she could feel him beginning to stretch her, the soft ridges on the underside of his dick rubbing against her walls. She moaned quietly at the feeling, rubbing her clit as the cold settled in, and he gave her a dazed, hungry look before pressing the second head against her, stretching her open with two fingers to allow him to guide it in.</p><p>This one she felt keenly, a steady, slow ache that mounted with the pressure of him pushing in. After so long feeling empty, the burn of a good stretch was practically euphoric, and she let her moan taper off into a rich purr, rubbing harder as he pushed himself all the way in. Though he couldn’t reach as deep as she normally liked it, he was <em> cold </em>, and she could feel every part of his lengths inside of her, a cool, aching throb that contrasted deliciously with the heat pulsing through her body.</p><p>He too seemed affected; just after he fully sheathed himself in her, he paused, and she felt his claws sink into her side, heard the rattling breath of a cut-off moan. This time, though, the sound echoed through her head, and left a remnant of his pleasure throbbing in her gut, a phantom sensation of gripping heat and wetness before he seemed to catch himself, hips grinding in small circles as he grit his fangs and looked away, whole body heaving with each breath. </p><p>It was all too much, too much at once, too much and painfully understimulating at the same time, and she <em> burned.  </em></p><p>"Move," she rasped, grasping for him, trying to pull him closer, deeper. Her leg pressed into his back, pushing him in until she felt the lips of his sheath rub against hers, and, with a jerk and a growl, he pushed her leg aside, arching back and away. He half-slipped out of her with the movement, the ridges on the underside of his members rubbing deliciously against her, before he wrapped his tail around her in a firm grip and began to thrust, rougher and harder than she thought him capable of.</p><p>It was bizarre. It was perfect. It <em> would </em>have been perfect, if he was just a little bit bigger, to feel him coil around her and immobilize her, press her deep into the sheets while he fucked and bred her. But it was close enough, his strength deceptive despite his size, and she cursed and dug gouges into the sheets as the burn of each thrust slipped from a deep ache to something bordering on the edge of sweet pain, hot friction and the rough slap of his scales against her carapace ringing through her with each downward stroke. </p><p>She had not thought him capable of such strength. Not really. Not even when she had felt his muscles shift under her claws, deceptive power in such a small body, but he was a wyrm and a predator still, his form no lesser in strength than it had been before, and her head swam with her mounting pleasure as he thrust into her, her breaths coming in heavy gasps, unbidden. </p><p>She had not thought he would break like this. She had thought that it would be some stiff, awkward affair that she would have to sit and grit her teeth through, even when she had slid her finger into his mouth and pressed against the razorblade fangs within. She had not thought that she would have awoken a beast worthy of matching her moniker, but she <em> had, </em> and oh, <em> oh </em>how grateful she was that she was capable of witnessing this holy thing, the sight and feel of a god losing himself to the thrall of his pleasure. To feel the drag of him within her, his members just slightly out of tempo with each other, to feel the cold nubs along their shafts rub against her sweet spot and to feel the slick, tingling ache of him spreading her open, pulsing inside of her. Utterly debauched, his usual detached control broken by his desperation, his need. A battle won.</p><p>A conquest, one that she knew he would never admit to outside of her bedroom. Even as she rocked back into him, encouraging him, adding more fuel to the fire, her heart sang with the smug affirmation of her victory.</p><p>Not that he seemed aware of it- on the contrary, he looked quite out of it, his mandibles unfurled, slick fangs glinting in the glow of his kingslight as he panted and choked back the sounds of his pleasure. She watched him hungrily, each little whimper and rumbling hiss he made only adding to the sweet, pulsing throb building within her. Every little twitch and gasp, every mumbled, cut-off word, she committed to memory, and she felt herself clench around him at the knowledge that he was losing himself in her, <em> him, </em> the great untouchable god-king of Hallownest, reverting to his most base of instincts as he fucked her, filled her.</p><p>"Please," she heard the voice from far away, and did not recognize it; it could be his, it could be hers, it was too hard to tell. The press of his mind was heavy against hers, his boundaries slipping out of his control, and she moaned and felt herself throb around him at the sharp alien edge of his arousal, a desperate adrenaline rush that did not quite match her fierce, wild hunger. She slipped a hand down to rub at her clit again, a tricky task with how hard he was pounding into her, but one that made each thrust in feel infinitely sweeter, pushing her right to the brink. Another small victory for her, one that she had not expected to take, and she shifted as best as she could to thrust back against him, feeling his tail tighten its curve around her, trying to goad him on.</p><p>She was close. She was <em> so close. </em></p><p>
  <em> Please. </em>
</p><p>He took another rattling breath, his pace slowing a bit, and she felt him shift inside of her, a familiar burning stretch that forced her voice into a high-pitched whine that she'd probably be embarrassed about later. But it was hard to think about that now- hard to think at all, when it rubbed hard against her sweet spot, and then he did it <em> again </em>and half-pulled out so that the aching burn of him stretching her open hit a peak right as he pressed against her sensitive walls, grinding against her while she rubbed circles on her clit, and she was gone. </p><p>She rode out her orgasm for longer than she expected, her limbs shaking as she clenched around him, white-hot static prickling over her. Distantly, she was surprised that he even managed to get her to such a point, before the slow press-pull of him fucking her through it started to register as near-sweet overstimulation, her claws sliding away when the hot jolts of pleasure started to morph into pain, and her awareness of her surroundings increased.</p><p>He was watching her, she realized, eyeing her over a puzzle that he had just barely managed to solve; he was still fucking into her slowly, his dicks still spread apart within her, and she watched him back for a moment, muzzy-headed, before she felt the whisper of his mental voice worm back into her mind, nearly incomprehensible with the crackling static of his own arousal. She heard nothing of his physical voice but a soft desperate moan, before he clicked his jaws shut and focused on breathing, shuddering as he pressed deep inside of her and slowly ground his hips.</p><p>
  <em> "Are you alright?" </em>
</p><p>"You can continue," she choked out, feeling the pressure start to build into a peak again; indeed, coming once had only increased her appetite, made her more sensitive to his every movement. On the lonely days of her previous cycles, this had been an irritation, but now it was a blessing, especially with each consecutive thrust growing a little bit rougher as his control slipped. "Do what you wish. I am not fragile."</p><p>A low rumble, low enough to nearly be a trill, and he sped up again. What went from a slow, steady pace soon reached the rough fucking from before, with a twist; he hadn't pressed his pricks together again, and now the stretch was all the more filling, the slightest difference in tempos between them driving her insane. She shivered under each rough thrust, feeling more than hearing the growl build in his chest, and as she rested back a little bit and stretched a hand down to her clit again, she felt his tail wrap around her, clamping hard enough to hurt, before, in a daze, his fangs clapped down onto her side, sinking in deep enough to draw blood.</p><p>The burst of pain that followed was not the worst she had ever dealt with, but the sting was jarring- she let out a shout, jerking her hand away to grab one of his horns, and felt him jolt under his grasp as he released her, mumbling pained, mangled '<em> apologies </em>' over and over again under his breath. He did not pull away from her, his tail still wrapped firmly around her, but he pressed one shaky hand against her side and healed it in a flash of soul that she really did not need.</p><p>Either way, she knew what it meant, and she was not surprised when his gasps turned ragged for an entirely different reason, his thrusts falling out of synch, speeding up and slowing down in alternating intervals. It was maddening, truly maddening, and she had to bite back an impatient growl of her own as she rubbed furiously at her clit, losing herself in the cold press of him within her body, bumping against oversensitive spots that sent snaps of sensation through her, into the mounting peak she was so close to toppling over...again.</p><p>She supposed that in this case, and this case alone, he had won the bet. Fucker knew more about fucking than she'd given him credit for.</p><p>"Herrah", he whispered- whined, really, as close as he could come to such a thing. He was so <em> desperate </em>, his voice more broken than she ever could imagine. He slowed down again, shuddering with effort, until he was grinding circles against her sweet spot again, glancing down to where they were joined with a dazed expression. "I…"</p><p>He could not finish his sentence, but it was not needed; she knew exactly what he was going to say. Heat surged through her, anticipation making lumaflies flutter in her thorax, and she grabbed one of his horns and jerked his head down closer to hers, savoring the cut-off, gasping snarl he made in response, the way she felt him twitch inside of her. His voice made her head spin, his control frayed almost completely through, but she didn't care. Not with him so close, and her about to follow behind him for the second time that night, her clit throbbing with heat even as she felt cold slick drip free from her opening.</p><p>"Come on, then," she growled. "Breed me,"</p><p>Her words had the desired effect. With a quiet gasp, so soft as to be almost nonexistent, his hips snapped forward, once, twice, and then his cold fingers replaced hers, rubbing rough circles against her clit as he rocked himself in deep, aiming for her sweet spot. </p><p>She did not expect that to happen in the slightest, not with him so close to coming. But he stroked her as hard as she liked, in the way that he liked, and before long she was shaking and panting her way through another orgasm, full-body shudders that clenched her tight around him and made each rough thrust in feel all the more extreme, and that was enough to bring him over the edge. He made a stifled, choked noise, then pressed in deep, as deep as he could go, and she felt him pulse within her, felt cold bloom, deep in her gut- more than she would have expected, but satisfying nonetheless, especially as she came down from the high of her orgasm enough to really feel it.</p><p>Here was the seed of a god within her; here was her kingdom's salvation, her next clutch, kindled with the short circles and shivers he made as he filled her up, cool slick dripping free of her hot slit as he finished up and slowly pulled out of her, a string of their combined fluids briefly sticking them together as he curled up next to her, panting quietly. He made a face at that, a slight shiver trembling through his wings, and she sighed and reached over to dip two rags in the washbasin, silently offering one to him.</p><p>He took it with a muttered thanks, diligently wiping the area around his slit, before, surprisingly, reaching out to help her as well. She had to stop herself from cringing away from his touch- she was oversensitive, and he was <em> cold- </em>but he was surprisingly gentle, and when he was done he folded the rags neatly and passed them up to her with them pinched between the point of two claws, making a muffled noise of protest as she picked them both up and launched them halfway across the room without looking at them.</p><p>"I'm not dealing with those right now," she murmured to him; in the relative quiet, the silence was starting to shift firmly into the 'awkward' territory, the weight of what they had just done pressing down on them both. Not even two seasons ago, the King had been her enemy, a grim symbol of oppression from the east, and now he was curled up next to her with his cum threatning to leak out of her, their drowsy post-sex trances leaving them both vulnerable. The rival god-king of illuminated Hallownest had two glowing dicks, fucked like a beast, and tried his damned best to be quiet in bed, and this was knowledge that she would have for the rest of her days, instead of the might of his warriors or the colour his blood ran when impaled upon her needle.</p><p>She wondered what her ancestors, her <em> predecessors </em>would think, if they knew that she took their old opponent to bed instead of killing him, like they had so desired when they had had to deal with him in the past. The old queen, she knew, would not have seen the use in it; but then again, the old queen had been overly cautious and deeply suspicious of outsiders, whereas she preferred to just blunt-force her way though problems that didn’t require delicate care. </p><p>She supposed fucking her problems worked. Especially when it not only ensured her kingdom’s future, but also ended the cold war between Hallownest and Deepnest for good.</p><p>Which. Speaking of. She supposed she <em> really </em>couldn't call him an enemy now, not after he had managed to make her cum twice. She had to credit him for that, at least.</p><p>"I'll admit it, Pale King. I didn't know that you had it in you." Her voice cleaved the silence, a little rougher than she would have liked it. She covered her sudden burst of embarrassment by rolling onto her back and glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to ignore the feeling of his...fluids threatening to leak out of her. For someone so small, he sure had a lot of jizz in him. She contemplated whether or not this was a trait of wyrms or of gods, and then decided she didn’t want to know the answers to either.</p><p>(She supposed that's why neither he nor his wife were too concerned about him being able to get her gravid.)</p><p>(She was a bit worried about the faint tingly sensation, though. Out of all the different species she had slept with in her life, none of them left her cunt faintly tingly. Then again, none of them had been gods, and she supposed she should offer him the benefit of the doubt, when the most danger he had posed to her so far was biting her.)</p><p>He opened his eyes, giving her a tired, vaguely offended look. If she wasn't still slowly unwinding from her high, she may have laughed. "I have a wife, Herrah. For many millennia, actually. I would like to think myself capable of satisfying her by now, after so many years spent by her side."</p><p>"Your demeanor didn't exactly tip it off." She made a vague gesture at him, feeling a smile tug at her fangs as he frowned, and then went back to resting her hands on her belly. Had his seed taken already, on the very first attempt? She doubted it, even with a god's virility, but she couldn't help the little spark of giddiness at the thought. Either way, at the end of this all, she was going to be a <em> mother. </em>"And I thought that the differences between me and your lady wife would be too great for you to comprehend. She is a gorgeous being, but hardly one that I understand, much less share many similarities with."</p><p>She realized, half a second too late, that she probably was not supposed to compliment the wife of someone who freely admitted to being territorial, even after said wife pretty much handwaved their entire dalliance in the first place. But the Pale King did not seem to take offense to her comment; if anything, it made him happier than anything else that she had said to him, his glow softening, one hand reaching up to brush lightly against the half-charm set over his heart.</p><p>"She is. She really is." He scrubbed a hand over his mask, looking away for a moment, and she felt that dim echo of his emotions ring through her, a gentle warmth ringing while his monotone voice revealed nothing. "But certain core concepts remain the same, and the remaining gaps in my knowledge can be solved by observation. Which-"</p><p>He rolled over, so that he was facing her, and pressed two hands against her side, vision unfocusing. She squinted at him, trying to decipher what he was doing- and then had to look away, as two glowing motes of soul appeared on his brow like two extra eyes opening, pinpricks of bright light gleaming in the liquid dark of his actual eyes, glimmering like starlight. A spell, or his reputed foresight, she could not tell, but it was unnervingly bright in the relative dark of her den, a far cry from the far gentler glow he maintained over the rest of his frame.</p><p>He held the pose for only a few seconds, but it seemed to be enough, as he let out a tired groan and rolled onto his back, staring despondently at the ceiling. The extra eyes and glittering speckles in his eyes faded into nothing, and she risked a closer peek at him, watching him out of the corners of her eyes. "It appears that my task is not yet done. Allow me a moment's reprise; I am somewhat...very sensitive at the moment."</p><p>He sounded more like someone had asked him to run a marathon rather than engage in more sex. She quickly turned to look at him, trying not to let herself jump to the wrong conclusions, and asked, in as neutral of a tone as she could manage, "did you not like it?"</p><p>He shook his head, sighing quietly, and some of the tension in her chest unknotted, her claws relaxing from where she had started digging them into her palms. "That is not the problem. The evidence of my….<em> excitement </em>is bound to start leaking from your epigyne at any moment, that is not it at all. What I just did was check the probability of you being with child. Though the likelihood is good, it was not as high as I had anticipated." He waved one hand, mouthparts curling into a frown. "It seems that I have unfairly attributed some of my virality to my natural state of being, rather than account for my Lady's influence." </p><p>He tapped his claws against the underside of his jaw, frown deepening. It was a ridiculous look on him, especially given the subject matter, and she felt amusement bubble up in her chest as she watched him continue to scowl up at the ceiling, tracing the same patterns of spiderweb over and over and over as his many mouthparts worked, chewing out the words. "This false assumption displeases me.”</p><p>She could not help it; she laughed. His head snapped around, giving her a sharp, startled look, but she did not care; that the Pale Wyrm of Hallownest would be so alike among the males she knew, in that his pride suffered when his virility was questioned, amused her for reasons that she could not quite explain. She was very glad, at least, that she did not need to take him to Midwife for a fertility check; that had been enough of a headache with her husband. She did not want to go through multiple failed attempts before he reluctantly agreed to a fertility test. </p><p>Though she supposed that the White Lady would be able to deal with that, and she could spare Midwife the pain of dealing with the Pale King. Now <em> that </em> was something that she wanted to see, if only to watch others handle him better than she ever could. She bet that he wouldn’t be so prickly with his lady wife. Not when he had spoken of her so softly, so warmly, in a manner that she almost didn’t believe him capable of. “Ach, spare your griping, Wyrm! We have several days ahead of us for you to prove yourself. Clutches are hardly kindled at the first try.” She went to poke him, saw him flinch, and settled for stabbing her finger at his face again, grinning cheekily when his eyes followed it a little <em> too </em> well. A hunter was a hunter, no matter what shell they wore or what illusions they used to cover it up. “We can try again in a little while.”</p><p>He sighed again, and rolled over so that he could comfortably rest his chin on the bed. One hand came up to knead at the charm on his chest, fingertips pressing into the chitin plates like he could tear his heart out and hold it in his hands. Perhaps, for him, that was what the charm was for; a heart set into his pale chest, turning him from a being of unfeeling marble to a living, breathing creature, rather than a construct like he claimed the Vessel to be. It was a fantastical concept, and she dismissed it from her mind as she watched his gaze turn distant, before he whispered, in an unusually subdued voice, “In a little while.”</p><p>She hummed, and lapsed into silence, recognizing the need for a quiet moment. Once again, she thought of the Queen in her gardens, claiming Hallownest to have no heir. Once again, she thought of the Vessel at its station, looking more like a statue than a living being, its carapace darker than anything that she had ever seen before in her life. A construct of Void, one with the Queen’s eyes and the King’s face, emptied of emotion and thought and will and voice. </p><p>Apparently, she was wrong in giving him a moment of silence, for the Pale King, it seemed, did not recognize such a thing, and it was not long before he started to speak again, talking with his normal court voice as if nothing had ever happened between them.</p><p>“So, about the taxes-”</p><p>She cut him off with a groan, loud enough to drown out even his persistent, whispering voice, and rolled over to smack him with a pillow for good measure.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i decided to make PK good at fucking as an apology to Herrah for all the bullshit she has left to deal with. DW, there's def. gonna be more spider sex, but, like...mfer is a headache to handle, I figured I might as well give her SOME joy out of this whole ordeal that isn't centered entirely around Hornet, esp. bc that...does not last as long as it should be. Ty team cherry for my heart</p><p>ALSO!!! Yes I DID allude to Herrah having a kid before needing to go to PK for help!! No I did NOT let them live long enough to earn a name for themselves!!! I had to have SOME reason to kill off her husband, after all, and, well...let's just say that some hybrids are not as strong against infectious diseases as demigods are against the world + infectious diseases spawned by angry moth gods. There's a reason she's so eager to fuck PK, after all, bc she's def. not just thirsty for that wass</p><p>Also almost all wyrm vocalizations are rather rumbly, so PK's stifled shit isn't always bc he's trying to conserve scraps of his dignity. He's also doing the mating call rumble to try to soothe her, convince her to not try to eat him, as most wyrm sires gotta do. Wyrm dams are scaaary</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And so it begins! It's not much yet, but I'll add more soon. Just need to get over the hump (heh), of some political talk and bickering and then we're going straight into the fun times. Herrah is gonna have so much fun teasing PK lmfao</p><p>Update: the pseud does indeed put your username next to it. I am a fool. But I am a fool out of the search engine and that is enough for me</p></blockquote></div></div>
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